


Deep Freeze

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Series: Flower Town [5]
Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Found Families, Gay Nightclubs, Hollow Bastion | Radiant Garden, M/M, Other, Past Child Abuse, Slice of Life, college town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-13 13:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 85,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Winter can be harsh in a town named for its flower gardens. Naminé finds that things can go from bad to worse, and Vanitas finds that they can go from worse to worst. Ienzo starts to realize just how wise beyond his years he isn't. And Lea and Isa face more challenges in the span of three months than they've had in almost a decade of marriage.But doesn't the snow look lovely this time of year.
Relationships: Aeleus & Even & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Aeleus & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Braig/Demyx (Kingdom Hearts), Demyx & Isa & Lea (Kingdom Hearts), Even & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Ienzo & Isa (Kingdom Hearts), Isa & Lea & Lea's Mom (Kingdom Hearts), Isa/Lea (Kingdom Hearts), Naminé/Vanitas (Kingdom Hearts)
Series: Flower Town [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1401826
Comments: 28
Kudos: 81





	1. I'd Rather We Just Skip The Formalities

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill. Let's just dive into this thing.
> 
> Characters: the Higanbana crew, plus everyone's favorite Wealthy And Mysterious Wine Uncle who only visits twice a year, a.k.a Luxord.

It would have been nice to take Monday off in observance of Veteran’s Day, like every other business in Radiant Garden. But inspection week was looming once again, and after everything that had happened over the last quarter, Marluxia was more iron-fisted and detail-oriented than ever.

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one. Since the incident the previous month, everyone had been much more mindful of risks in the workplace, health-related or otherwise. On top of that, Isa had already called the bureau twice to confirm that Sark was back in the field and would be conducting their inspection. By early evening, there was nothing much left to clean or repair, and so the Higanbana crew gathered on the main floor to have some dinner and round out their hours.

No one could deny that they had, as a group, grown closer over the years, but there was something about sitting down and eating a meal together that felt just a little surreal. Braig—to keep himself occupied, and possibly to break up the strange atmosphere—went to the stage and fiddled around with Demyx’s keyboard. He offered to take requests, and Ienzo sarcastically called out, “‘Free Bird,’” startling Lea so thoroughly that he choked on his food. Isa rubbed his back without looking up from his work, having dealt with this problem since they were children, back when Lea was too energetic and excitable to separate eating from speaking.

After a sip of water and a few more coughs to clear his windpipe, Lea glanced at Ienzo. “When did _you_ get here?”

“Two hours ago,” Ienzo replied, and Lea was so caught off guard that he almost believed him.

“He came in with me when I brought the food back,” Aeleus said, giving Ienzo a reproachful look. “Library’s closed. I’m driving him home when we finish up here.”

“Of course you are.” Lea shook his head, glancing at Ienzo again. “We gotta put a bell on you or something.”

Ienzo rolled his eyes, and Braig chuckled from the stage as he started playing through his setlist. He kicked off with the Rose Leaf Rag (“Marluxia’s theme,” he explained, to no one’s interest), but he quickly moved on, assigning a tune to each of his coworkers. He grinned at Demyx when he tapped out the first few bars of the Peacherine Rag. “A fun little crowd-pleaser, just like you,” he said. Demyx remained oddly quiet, neither returning the flirtation nor launching into a history lesson on the music of the twentieth century, as he was usually so inclined to do.

Even Isa, whose personality seemed the least compatible with ragtime, found a match in the Graceful Ghost Rag. Braig trailed into its bittersweet refrains inexpertly but pleasantly, and everyone enjoyed listening until Demyx finally rose from his chair, demanding that Braig stop ruining an essential genre of American music by playing it in _swing time_. “Play it straight, or don’t play it at all,” he said as he climbed onto the stage.

“Those are fighting words in a place like this,” Braig laughed. But he cooperated, sauntering back to the bar when Demyx said, “Move, move, _move_,” and flicked both hands at Braig to shoo him away like the pest he was.

Demyx tended to his keyboard and returned to his table, and everyone resumed eating, appreciating the silence but also feeling like it should be broken again before long. Braig, regrettably, once more took it upon himself to rescue them all from their own peace and quiet.

“Marry, fuck, kill?”

“_Braig_,” Dilan said, and Aeleus, who had just taken a large bite of food, gestured to Ienzo to show his disapproval.

“What? Kid spends all his time in a gay nightclub, for cryin’ out loud.” The bouncers kept their reprimanding looks, and Ienzo glanced between them and the bartender, his desire to not be treated like a child battling with his desire to see Braig get in trouble. Braig sighed. “Fine. M, F, K. How’s that? Aeleus, Lea, Marluxia. Go.”

“Should we really be involving our employer in this? Especially while he’s on the premises?” Dilan pointed out. The back offices were too far from the main floor to hear anything substantial, but everyone was acutely aware of Marluxia’s presence all the same.

“You kidding? That’s half the fun. Like tryin’ to get away with shit while your dad’s in the next room. Just keep your voices down, and none’s the wiser.”

“I thought we agreed not to use people we know,” Isa said, turning a page on his clipboard. “At least not ones who are currently in the room. There’s no conceivable way for it to end well.”

“Says you.” But Isa, as he often strived for, had brought Braig’s fun to an end. The bartender slouched against the counter, and for a few minutes, no one picked up his slack.

“…how about a bet?” Aeleus suggested. Isa took a break from his work to glance at him in surprise.

“On what?” Lea asked, and Aeleus shrugged.

“I don’t know. We always seem to have one bet or another going.”

They brainstormed, but it was more difficult than they expected to come up with good ideas. No one was up for another arm-wrestling contest, and no one even acknowledged Ienzo’s suggestion of thumb-wrestling. When Lea said, “Bet I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue,” no one put any munny against him, aware that he was just trying to show off. They did, however, demand proof.

A minute later, with Isa shaking his head, Lea triumphantly removed a knotted stem from his mouth. “Tada.”

“Psh, big deal,” Braig said. “I can _un_tie a cherry stem with my tongue.”

“Prove it.”

“Listen,” Isa began, holding his clipboard in front of Lea to silence him. “First of all, that’s not hygienic, and I’d like to remind you that we _are_ preparing for a health inspection this week. Secondly,” he went on, allowing Lea to shove the clipboard away from his face, “we should be scaling it back on the bets, particularly on company property.”

“Killjoy.”

“We’ve had enough problems this year, Braig, especially with our last inspection. Better safe than sorry. It _is_ gambling, technically, and we aren’t licensed for it.” Isa cringed when the front door opened, hoping he hadn’t said that too loudly and that whoever had arrived wasn’t another law enforcement officer.

But it was a familiar, urbane, and not at all unwelcome voice that said, “Oh, darling, leave it to the professionals.”

All eyes turned to the door, where Luxord was letting himself in and waving cheerfully at the group. He slipped his scarf off while everyone made subconscious little adjustments to their appearances. Even Demyx ran a hand through his hair, and Aeleus made sure to sit up a bit straighter.

“Speak of the devil,” Braig said, and Luxord gave him a classic, gilded smile.

“From one devil to another,” he said, knowing as always just what Braig wanted to hear. “You flatter me.”

“I didn’t realize you were coming by,” Isa said as he rose from his chair. He went to the door to greet Luxord and offer to take his coat, ignoring the flat look that he _knew_ Lea was giving him from across the room.

“I’ve been meaning to catch up with Marluxia,” Luxord explained, handing over his winter clothing to be stored in the empty coat check. “I’ll be in town for a few days, but I thought I’d at least stop by to say hello.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you again,” Isa said, and Luxord gave him a sympathetic smile.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Isa. I must say, when Marluxia told me what transpired last month, I had hoped he was exaggerating.” He looked Isa over, shaking his head slowly. “Such a shame. It’s so wrong that this would happen under _any_ circumstances, but especially here. You’ve dedicated your livelihood to providing a service to your community. No one should have to go into their place of work afraid for their well-being.”

Isa nodded, feeling very supported, but also more modest than usual about the state of his face. Luxord gave him another fond smile before he turned to the rest of the crew. “It’s been too long, gentlemen,” he said, behaving as much like a host as a guest. He wasn’t so presumptuous as to claim a seat at one of the tables, inviting himself to their informal dinner, but instead settled down at the bar, where he could speak to everyone easily. “Dilan, Lea, Aeleus—you’re all looking well. Demyx, wonderful to see you again.”

They waved, nodded, or otherwise returned his greeting, and Luxord leaned forward a bit, looking past Aeleus until he spotted Ienzo. “I thought I might find you there,” he said with a slight twinkle in his eye, which Ienzo didn’t return in the slightest. “I believe you have something for me.”

Aeleus glanced in confusion at Ienzo, who said nothing and gave no hint that he knew what Luxord was referring to. “The card?” Luxord went on. “Six of hearts, as I recall. I have no doubt that a bright young man such as yourself would’ve been able to discern its meaning.”

Ienzo continued to stare blankly, just for the fun of it, before he bothered to say, “Oh. Right. No, I don’t have it.”

“No?”

“Yeah, I think I lost it a few months back.” He shrugged, and Luxord watched him, trying to pierce through that once-praised poker face. But Ienzo went back to his salad, and Aeleus was starting to feel awkward sitting between the two of them. With a genial smile at no one in particular, Luxord let the introverts be, and at long last, he turned his focus to the bar.

“Hmm,” he said as he assessed Braig, who had been waiting patiently for his turn and now basked in the attention. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but _something_ seems different since the last time I saw you…”

“Heh, bit more wear and tear,” Braig replied, touching his jaw lightly.

“Well, hopefully it hasn’t affected your drink-making abilities.”

“Let’s find out. What’ll you have?”

“Could you give me a Finest Fantasy?”

“Can I ever.” While Dilan and Isa gave him withering looks from across the floor, Braig prepared one of Higanbana’s lesser-known drinks and handed it over, satisfied when Luxord seemed pleased with his first sip.

“A delight to the senses,” he said with a coy smile. The crew let him enjoy his drink in peace until Braig, true to form, broke the silence.

“So, about ‘leaving it to the professionals’…you arrived just in time to get in on the betting action.”

“Did I, now?” Luxord asked, leaning his elbow on the counter and straying subtly into Braig’s space, though not subtly enough to go unnoticed. “Surely not another arm-wrestling competition?”

“Cherry stems.” At Luxord’s quirked eyebrow, Braig nodded to Lea. “So far, Carrot Top’s the only one to tie the knot. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

_Aeleus was right_, Isa thought. _One of these days, Braig’s going to get punched_. But Luxord, an eternal diplomat, chuckled and set his drink down on a napkin. “Well, it’s been quite a while, but I might have a parlor trick or two up my sleeve.” Braig was already offering him a small dish of cherries, and Luxord made his selection with care. He held the cherry up and regarded the Higanbana crew. “Any takers?”

Only Dilan expressed any doubt, and Ienzo had long since turned his attention back to his book. As Luxord put the cherry in his mouth and shifted his jaw around it, the crew watched, aware that their attentiveness was approaching “weird at best” levels. But when Luxord finally removed the stem, sure enough, there was a neat little knot sitting in its center.

Demyx whistled in appreciation, and Braig said, “Now give it here, and I’ll show you something _really_ impressive.”

“Braig,” Isa snapped, but Luxord laughed good-naturedly, picking his glass up once again and laying the cherry stem on the napkin in its place.

“One cherry per feat, I’m afraid. Health codes and all that. Oh, please,” he added, holding his hand up when Dilan began to take his wallet out. “No need, Dilan. This was a friendly wager.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. We can always go double or nothing on something else later.”

Dilan hesitated, but he slid his wallet back into his pocket, and Braig smiled approvingly. “Well, well. A gracious winner. Don’t see many of those nowadays.”

“Oh, we encounter our share of sore winners back home. It’s terribly unbecoming. A gentleman accepts when fortune favors him with as much grace as when it passes him by. He doesn’t boast his winning hand.”

Half the crew nodded absentmindedly, taking in Luxord’s daily calendar entry of gambling wisdom, but Braig, predictably, had an innuendo lined up. Thankfully, he didn’t get farther than, “Speaking of ‘winning hands’—” before the back door opened and Marluxia, their unlikely savior, cut him off.

“Luxord?”

“Mmm!” Luxord said, swallowing the most recent sip of his drink and setting the glass down. “Marluxia. So good to see you.”

“You as well,” Marluxia replied, crossing the floor to greet what was surely his oldest—if not _only_—friend. He didn’t reciprocate Luxord’s European-style kiss on each cheek, but he didn’t seem put off by them, either. When Luxord released his arms, Marluxia glanced at his watch. “Your famous punctuality is slipping.”

“I swear, I arrived on the hour,” Luxord said with a light laugh. “Time just gets away from me when I’m talking to Braig. Where did you find this dashing rogue, anyway?”

“He came with the place,” Marluxia said, ignoring Braig’s complacent smile. “Next time, please feel free to ask for me, or better yet, come right to my office. I’m sure Isa would be happy to point you in the right direction.”

“Of course,” Isa said, and Luxord waved his hand dismissively.

“The blame lies solely with me. I’m afraid I struggle to tear myself away from such a wonderful group. But I’ve claimed enough of everyone’s time.” He gestured toward the back hall with his drink. “Shall we?”

Marluxia nodded and superfluously held his arm out to guide him. Luxord gave everyone a wave and Braig a wink before he departed, and Marluxia gave everyone a nod and Braig a lingering, weary look before he followed.

“Hear that?” Braig said once the door was closed. “I’m _dashing_.”

“It’s the eyepatch,” Dilan replied. “He basically said you look like a pirate.”

“I’ll take it.”

“What’s going on with you today, anyway?” Aeleus asked, balling up his trash and taking Ienzo’s empty salad container to the recycling bin. “You’re a little more…excessive than usual.”

“Luxord started it.”

“That’s just how he talks,” Isa said. “Aeleus is right. This is shameless, even for you.”

“For real,” Lea chimed in. “He runs a casino, for fuck’s sake. All glitz and glamor. He’s just putting on a show, and you, of all people, are falling for it?”

“Hey, I’m far from the only one head over heels for the guy. I’m just the only one willing to admit it, apparently.”

“…well, he’s got you there,” Dilan said to the rest of the group, with no small amount of reluctance.

“Still,” Aeleus said, “this is ridiculous behavior. You can’t possibly think that while he’s in town to see one of his oldest friends, he’s going to have a little side-visit with you.”

Braig rested his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand, revealing a grin that was almost as wolfish as Isa’s. “Wanna _bet_?”

* * *

The rules were simple: either Braig could get Luxord to hook up with him, or he couldn’t. He had until the end of Luxord’s current visit to Radiant Garden to make it happen.

But the more questions Braig asked, the more convoluted the rules became. “I think we need to agree on some parameters, here,” Isa said. “Braig, you keep using the word ‘date.’ What exactly does that mean to you? Because it’s one thing to convince someone to hook up with you, and another thing to convince them to spend an entire evening in your company.”

“Okay, a little harsh. Y’know, it’s real easy for the rest of you to sit around hurling insults when I’m the only one putting myself out there. If you’re gonna talk shit, the least you can do is join the competition. It’s not like you guys aren’t dying to, anyway.” He laughed at the few skeptical looks he received. “Come _on_. You can’t shut up about how out of my league he is. The more you try to diss me, the more you sound like you’re just in love with the guy.”

There was an awkward exchange of glances among the crew. None of them would have demanded to be included in the game, especially up against Braig. For all their cracks about his obnoxious personality and general vulgarity, they couldn’t ignore his strange Casanova effect, nor deny the loyal following he had accrued—even among their regular patrons, who had actually gotten to know him. And Luxord _did_ seem to have taken a shine to the man.

Everyone relented with a shrug or compliant silence, except Ienzo and Dilan, for obvious reasons. “No one cares,” Braig told them both when they announced their exclusion from the contest. “_Finally_ we’ve got a wager worth half a damn in this place. Isa, break out the spreadsheet and make it official.”

“I’m not making a chart for this. That’s the last thing I need Marluxia finding on my clipboard.”

“Fine. We’ll do this one on the honor system.”

“Sorry,” Ienzo said, in a tone that suggested he was about to cut Braig down and wasn’t sorry at all, “the _what_ system?”

“Honor among thieves, bucko. Though, uh, if we’re _doin’_ this, we’re definitely gonna need more of those ground rules. First, the handicaps.” He fixed his attention on Lea and Isa. “You guys have got the most unfair advantage in the whole place.”

“_How_?” Lea asked, while Isa waited patiently to hear Braig’s reasoning.

“You’re a dynamic duo. If we want even _close_ to equal chances for everyone, we need a hard and fast rule that it’s every man for himself. No tag-teaming this one.”

“Okay, first of all, why the _fuck_ would you think that we’d—”

“Agreed,” Isa said. “Now, back to _my_ concern. How are we defining a date in this context?”

“You’re askin’ the wrong person here. Or, uh…maybe the wrong people,” Braig amended as he surveyed the group: Ienzo the unflirtable bookworm, Aeleus the hopeless-and-hapless-in-love, and Dilan the voluntarily celibate—who was already leaving the room, seeking out something more productive to do as long as he was still on the clock. When Braig glanced at Demyx for suggestions, the musician gave him a flat look, and he looped all the way back to Lea and Isa. “…all right,” he conceded, “you’re up. What do _you_ qualify as a date?”

“Well, are you asking what a date would be for us _now_, or back when we were actually dating?”

“Holy shit, I don’t care. We just need a guideline to satisfy your anal retentive spoilsport of a husband, who takes fun things like gambling and hooking up with posh British gentlemen and turns them into _procedures_.”

Lea smiled fondly at the description, but he took Braig’s point. “Well, I guess a _date_ date—like, an actual date night—would need dinner, something like going for a walk or seeing a show, and then, uh, sex, basically.”

“…seriously? That’s it?” When Lea raised his eyebrows, Braig held up his hands. “All right, all right. So, those are the parameters: food, a time-waster, and sex. Not necessarily in that order.”

“I have an objection,” Isa said.

“Oh, _there’s_ a surprise.”

“You can’t require sex to be part of the date, Braig. It disqualifies those of us who are already in a relationship—”

“Literally just you two.”

“—not to mention, it’s unethical. Besides, I think the date alone is enough of a challenge.”

“We could make it a three-point system?” Aeleus suggested. “Three activities, three locations, something like that. Leave the specifics up to the participants.”

They were able to agree on that much, and they went on to outline the rest of their rules and regulations. While Isa still refused to immortalize any of this debauchery on his clipboard, he did jot down a few notes for future reference on a napkin. Demyx was in the process of arguing that two different bands at the same venue would absolutely count as two different “points” when the back door opened, and everyone but Ienzo glanced swiftly in its direction like dogs who’d heard the dinner bell.

They were unusually disappointed to see Dilan. “Tease,” Braig muttered.

“Heading out already?” Aeleus asked while Dilan finished putting his coat on, gathering his hair and pulling it out from under the collar.

“Yes. I have plans.”

“…but…you never have plans.” Dilan paused just long enough to give his friend a dry look.

“Well, I do tonight. Luxord and I are going out.”

Any one of the Higanbana crew would have mercilessly mocked the others’ expressions, if they hadn’t all been staring at Dilan. Finally, with a quiet and almost comically deep sense of betrayal, Isa said, “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny.”

“But—you—” Lea sputtered, glancing at Demyx for help, who was gaping like a fish.

“I owed him from the bet earlier, so I figured I’d take him out for a nice evening to pay him back. Besides, he’s our boss’s oldest friend. It seems polite to get to know him a little.”

“You didn’t even tell us you were competing,” Braig tried. “When I said we were all on the honor system, I meant it, believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, and you know it.”

“Can’t speak for everyone, but I sure as hell would’ve switched up my tactics if I knew who I was up against.”

“It’s called subterfuge, Braig,” Dilan said, putting his hands in his pockets, utterly at ease. “You of all people—”

“But what are you even going to do?” Aeleus asked. “You just had dinner. You don’t go anywhere for fun except the gym. And you’re straight.”

“He’s a resourceful person, and it’s an interesting town.”

“Everything’s closed for the holiday,” Isa pointed out.

“Then we’ll go to his hotel and get a drink at the bar. You’re all overthinking this. And to be honest, your obsession with this man is reaching unhealthy and frankly concerning heights.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you were gay,” Lea said, borderline sulking, but Dilan shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s it. You guys are just _far_ too desperate for approval. I mean, how would this bet even work for most of you? Lea and Isa are married. Aeleus, no offense, but I don’t think you were going to take any initiative at all. Demyx treats Luxord like a celebrity more than a viable sexual partner. And _you_?” He turned to Braig, who waited with calm curiosity for his evaluation. “I can only imagine that _your_ idea of a date involves a venue that serves malt liquor and fistfights in equal measure, followed by a romantic visit to the dog-racing track, and concluding with the swapping of diseases in whatever den of hedonism you call home.”

“…holy shit, dude,” Demyx whispered, and even Isa and Ienzo looked taken aback by the degree of that burn. But Braig simply laughed and said, “You know me too well, Dilan.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Dilan leaned against the edge of the bar while he waited, and everyone else sat quietly, having nothing much to do but accept that he had won. When Luxord and Marluxia strolled out the back door a few minutes later, the crew momentarily forgot Dilan’s betrayal. They looked at their boss, taking in his demeanor, more relaxed and open than they had ever seen it before. It was strange but reassuring to know that they apparently weren’t the only ones affected by Luxord’s presence.

“Thank you again for making time, Marluxia—I’ll call tomorrow afternoon.”

“Great.” Marluxia accepted Luxord’s customary pair of kisses and even a brief embrace before giving him a pat on the shoulder and sending him off. Luxord proved himself to be both a master of delight and a master of torment by ignoring the crew and turning all of his attention to Dilan.

“So,” he said, beaming up at the man, swathing him in his golden approval. “What does our evening have in store?”

“Most everything’s closed right now,” Dilan said, putting forth absolutely no effort and silently infuriating his coworkers in the process. “We could see some of the sights around town—or, if you’re not inclined to the cold, we could just go to your hotel for a nightcap.”

“Oh, let’s do that,” Luxord said, theatrically pleading. “The weather up here is too much for me. I’m afraid I don’t have the constitution for it. But an evening at the hotel sounds just perfect. Besides, I’ve finally gotten around to watching _The Seventh Seal_, and I’d love to pick your brain about Bergman. Maybe even get some more recommendations, if you have any you’d like to share.”

“Plenty.” Dilan gallantly directed Luxord to the door, leaving the rest of the crew with either stony or dagger-filled stares. Marluxia glanced between his employees and Luxord and Dilan, and after a moment of bewilderment, he decided that he didn’t need or want an explanation and simply stalked back to his office. Dilan joined Luxord at the club’s entrance and retrieved his coat and scarf, taking the one thing that could have possibly allowed Isa to remain relevant.

“Thank you, Dilan,” Luxord said, letting the man help him into his coat. He whisked his scarf into a knot and gave the group a cordial wave. “Delightful to see you all, gentlemen and Braig. It was, as always, a pleasure. Have a wonderful evening.”

“You, too,” half of them managed to mutter back as Luxord strolled out into the night, and Dilan refused to give them so much as a smug, over-the-shoulder glance as he followed his “date” out the door.

It was all they could do just to ignore each other. Aeleus tried to overlook the fact that Ienzo was sitting beside him with his face buried in his book, holding in a laugh for at least the past ten minutes. Eventually, when the silence had fully and comfortably settled in, Braig said, “…look, honesty hour. Which one of them are we more jealous of right now?”

With a sigh, Aeleus got up and started putting chairs on top of tables. Lea and Isa cleaned up their dinner, Demyx eventually hauled himself to his feet, and Ienzo put his book away, biting the inside of his cheek just to keep from smiling. After Isa checked in with Marluxia, they were free to go, wrapping up in winter clothes and dispersing out onto the sidewalk.

Due to their respective routes home and where Lea and Isa had parked, they all walked in the same direction for the next few blocks. Conversation was limited; even Ienzo seemed willing to let the awkwardness manifest without any extra help from him. They almost made it to their first parting of ways, but Braig was unable to let the evening end without one last bout of obnoxiousness. “Hey, Isa. Marry, fuck, kill: our delivery guy, Sark, or Ienzo’s dad?”

Ienzo grimaced, and Demyx rolled his eyes as he got into the backseat of Lea and Isa’s car. Isa paused by the passenger door, looking at Braig over the roof. “Lea, Lea, and you,” he answered, before telling Aeleus and Ienzo to have a good evening and getting in his car to go home.

* * *

Several months had passed since Lea and Demyx’s little stage stunt, but Isa still insisted on putting their setlists through a careful review. As they sat in the dining room of the Quinlan apartment, notes spread across the tabletop, Isa not only gave their selection his seal of approval, but also considered letting them give the “shadow show” another try.

“You liked that, huh?” Lea asked with a satisfied grin, and Isa replied with an uncharacteristically blunt, “Yes, I did.”

Lea’s smugness wore off fast when they inevitably returned to the subject of Dilan and Luxord. “To be fair,” Demyx said, “Dilan’s not _really_ gonna do anything. Like, even if he were gay. It’d go against his…I dunno, professional code, or whatever.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Isa insisted. “We rely on him to be one of our most consistent coworkers, and then he goes and does something like this? For no reason other than to throw us for a loop? It’s behavior I’d expect from Braig—it’s behavior I _did_ expect from Braig.”

“In all honesty, it’s a good thing we didn’t get a chance to put munny on it,” Lea admitted, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. “Luxord flirts up a storm with that guy. And Braig’s, like, fucking in _love_ with him. I thought for sure they’d end up spending the evening together.”

“Oh, please,” Demyx said. “Braig’s done with everything in half an hour, and that includes shower time.”

Lea snickered. “What the hell does that guy shower in, anyway? Engine oil?”

“Right? So gross.” Demyx shuddered, and Lea shook his head with a smile.

“Well, it worked out well enough. Not like we were really serious about the bet, anyway.”

“Yeah. Guess things are weird enough for us as it is, too,” Demyx conceded. “Probably better if we don’t complicate it.”

“Oh?” Lea put all four feet of his chair back on the floor and gave Demyx an intrigued look. “This is new. What do _you_ have goin’ on?”

“What? It’s not new. And it’s not like it’s anything serious.”

“It never is with you,” Isa said, and Demyx laughed easily.

“True. Plus, I mean, Braig’s not exactly the type of guy to get you a promise ring and wanna meet your parents, y’know?” He waited for Lea or Isa to laugh along with him, not expecting the sudden silence that descended on the room. “…what?”

They stared at him for a few more seconds, then glanced at each other, and Demyx groaned. “Oh, don’t fucking do that thing where you’re in perfect unison.”

Lea was the one to break their synchronization, slowly looking at Demyx again and saying, “Bullshit.”

“What, me and Braig? C’mon, you guys knew that.”

“_Bullshit_,” Lea repeated. “How—I mean—_why_—”

“What are you freaking out about? I literally _just_ told you what he’s like when he comes over.”

“I thought you were just shitting on Braig! I thought we were _always_ just shitting on Braig! And you’re telling me you guys have been—for how long?”

“I dunno. Couple years, on and off?”

Lea gaped, lost for words, and even Isa could only muster up a flat, “Wow.”

“It’s not like we’re _dating_ or anything, geez. Why is this such a surprise? You know I’m a casual guy, and hook-ups like this totally fit Braig’s M.O. Did you seriously think I was joking this whole time?”

“Some of us did,” Isa said, glancing pointedly at Lea, waiting for him admit that he had been wrong and Isa had been right like the married couple they were. Lea refused to look at either of them, finding himself on the receiving end of Isa and Demyx’s combined judgment for the first time in history, and not enjoying it one bit. Unwilling to let go of months and months of deep denial, Lea shook his head and said, “I just don’t believe this.”

Demyx huffed and took out his phone, fingers nimbly tapping away at the screen. “What’re you doing?” Lea asked.

“Getting some evidence.”

“Wait,” Isa said, his interest truly piqued for the first time that evening. “Do you have Braig’s _actual_ phone number?”

“Yeah. Well, one of ‘em, anyway.” Before Demyx could share it with Isa, his phone chimed out a riff from “Smooth Criminal.” Demyx laughed at the reply before holding his phone out to rest his case.

_Sorry you lost the bet, man. Consolation prize at my place in an hour?_

And the reply: _make it 30 min. might’ve lost, but I got a pair of winning hands here with your name on them_.

“…fuck,” Lea said, leaning back again as if to physically distance himself from the proof. Isa studied the text and glanced up at Demyx.

“You realize he recycled the line he was going to use on Luxord, yes?”

“Hey, all the more flattering,” Demyx said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “If it’s good enough for Luxord, it’s good enough for me.”

Isa couldn’t argue with that, and Lea, mulling it all over, laughed hesitantly. “Dude…you actually let Braig into your apartment? You do make sure all your stuff’s still there after he leaves, right?”

“Okay, I know we like to razz the guy, but come on. He’s basically a regular person.” Lea held up his hands in concession, still laughing a bit, but Demyx frowned. “And, like…I dunno. He’s been sorta M.I.A. since the brawl. I mean, we went from getting together once a week to nothing. I didn’t even hear from him—none of us did, you know? Total radio silence. I’m kinda worried, honestly. Like, if he’s doin’ okay with all this, but also if it’s just gonna be weird now.”

Lea looked sympathetic but uncomfortable, not eager to discuss this aspect of Demyx’s life now that he knew Braig was involved in it. “It’ll be fine, Demyx,” Isa said, stepping in for him. “You’re right. As much as we joke, Braig’s a person, just like…well, moderately like the rest of us. He took the brunt of the damage in the fight—I’m sure he just needed some time to readjust.”

“I dunno…”

“I do,” Isa said, and Demyx’s gaze subconsciously flickered to Isa’s scars before returning to his eyes.

“Yeah,” Lea added, trying to cut Demyx some slack. “I mean, god knows the guy’s been through worse than this.”

“True,” Demyx said with a little laugh. “Well, either way. Guess I’d better be heading out.” He packed his things and finally took the stuffed bunny off his lap, giving it back to Thorn and thanking her for letting him hold onto it while he visited. As he put his coat on by the door, he called back to the dining room, “Oh, hey. While I’ve got him, I’ll try to find out if he can actually pull off that cherry stem trick.”

“Oh, please, don’t trouble yourself,” Lea said.

“It’s no trouble.”

“It’s troubling me,” Isa replied.

“Heh, all right. We’ll leave that one a mystery for the ages.” And with a wave and a promise to see them later that week, Demyx headed out the door and off to his sordid rendezvous.

They sat in silence for a while, Isa scratching Thorn’s head repetitively and Lea tapping his pencil eraser on the table. “Well, damn,” he said, glancing at Isa. “Plot twist.”

“The only plot twist is you finally accepting an obvious truth.” Lea stuck his tongue out, and Isa added, “Two years, though. I’ll admit, that’s longer than I would’ve guessed.”

“Yeah, that was a surprise. I don’t think I’ve known Demyx to stick with anyone that long. Guess Braig really is our Don Juan, huh?”

“Impressive, for a man who’s allegedly broken his hip on two separate occasions.” Lea laughed, finding it easier to accept this revelation the more they joked about it. For a few minutes, Isa cleaned up while Lea made some more notes and adjustments to his setlist. He paused when Isa cleared his throat, and looked up to see him standing beside the table, hand held out expectantly. Lea raised his eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“Pay up.”

“Oh, c’mon. You were right and I was wrong. Isn’t that reward enough?”

Isa flicked his fingers insistently, and Lea sighed, holding his pencil between his teeth so he could dig some munny out of his pocket. Because he was a sore loser, he ignored Isa’s outstretched hand, folding the bills and sliding them between his waistband and his hip instead. Isa managed not to jump, but he quickly took them out and gave Lea an unamused look. “Classy.”

Lea grinned as he took the pencil back out of his mouth, watching Isa both recount and refold the munny before putting it in his pocket. As he turned to leave, Lea caught his hand with a quiet, “Hey.” He pulled Isa back to his side, then down a bit farther so he could sit up and give him a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek.

When he moved away, Isa looked both pleasantly surprised and mildly suspicious, as paranoid in victory as Lea was petty in defeat. “What?” he asked. Lea looked at him for a bit, smiling warmly as Isa’s expression gradually softened.

“Nothin’,” he said, letting go of Isa’s hand. “Just thinking about how much I like our life.”

For a few moments, Isa returned his look. Then he kissed Lea’s forehead, ruffled his hair, and went back to cleaning, leaving Lea to sit with Thorn and count his own winnings.

* * *

Moonlight poured in through the window. Thorn snored softly at the foot of the bed. Lea, who had been the one to insist on a mattress upgrade, still hadn’t gotten used to the king-sized amount of space. He had to scoot over a few inches just to tap Isa’s shoulder.

Isa’s only response was a hummed non-word that indicated he’d been about to fall asleep and was still hoping to do so. Lea took that as an invitation to tap his shoulder again and say, “Isa.”

Isa lifted his head, just enough to look at the clock, then dropped it back to the pillow.

“Hey, Isa—”

“_No_.”

“You don’t even know what I’m—”

“It’s a universal no,” Isa mumbled, trying to force himself to stay half-asleep.

“I was just wondering…who _are_ you more jealous of?” Isa groaned, muffled by the comforter as he drew it up around his nose and mouth. Lea smiled, tucking Isa’s hair behind his ear. “Well?”

“Luxord, _obviously_. Go to sleep.”

Lea settled back down on his side of the bed. “Yeah, same.” He closed his eyes and let Isa enjoy a few wonderful minutes of silence before he whispered, “Hey.” Isa said nothing. “…you’re not asleep, are you?”

“Lea, so help me—”

“I was just gonna say, for the record…you and Sark would be kinda hot.”

“You and shutting up would be _amazing_.” Lea chuckled and got more comfortable, and after a moment, Isa said, “And thank you _so_ much for ensuring that this will be our most awkward health inspection ever.”

“Don’t mention it.”


	2. You, Us, And This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Demyx and Braig. Direct follow-up to the previous chapter.
> 
> My unofficial summary of this chapter is "Braig says things in Italian that he would _never_ say in English." However, I don't actually speak Italian, so please feel free to overlook (or correct) any errors.

Demyx got home fifteen minutes before Braig was due to arrive. He wasn’t usually big on cleaning, but he wasn’t usually nervous, either, so he spent his remaining time buzzing around his apartment, looking for things to tidy.

There was no shortage of them. Aside from his vinyls, which had their own special shelving unit, everything was “sorted” into hopeless piles around the room. Demyx tackled the magazines first, and he made it through about thirty seconds of organizing before he started rereading old articles, sitting on the floor like some rock ’n’ roll imp that had been summoned with outdated issues of _Rolling Stone_. When he realized that he’d gotten distracted, he stood up and started straightening out his comforter instead, though it occurred to him that that was just an exercise in time-wasting. In the end, he simply sat at his desk, swiveling his chair from side to side until he heard a familiar knock.

“Hey,” he said as he opened the door with a little laugh, trying to break the tension he was sure only he could feel. “Long time no—”

Braig stepped over the threshold, grabbing Demyx and pulling him into an abrupt and somewhat alcoholic kiss. In the time it took Demyx to wonder how much drinking had been involved between Higanbana and now, Braig was already down a layer on himself and unzipping Demyx’s sweatshirt with singular focus. He at least had the presence of mind to kick the door shut behind him.

Demyx tried to speak, but Braig kept them pinned together with a hand on the back of his mullet. The most Demyx could manage was, “Dude—” before Braig was on him again, whispering “_baciami_” against his lips. Gratuitous Italian had become his most valuable currency, and Demyx, despite his concerns, was willing to let it buy some cooperation. They took a few steps toward the bed, but before they reached it, Demyx pressed his entire forearm across Braig’s chest and pushed him back. “_Dude_.”

Braig paused, breathing quietly as he looked Demyx over. “_Cosa_?” It took Demyx’s incredulous stare for Braig to realize just how disheveled he was, both physically and mentally. “What’s up?”

Demyx hesitated, unsure how to answer. This was exactly what he’d invited Braig over for. It was what he always invited Braig over for. And the Italian should’ve just been an added bonus. On the surface, nothing was different.

Well. The surface was exactly where things were different. When Braig noticed Demyx’s gaze lingering on his newest scar, he rolled his eye and moved in again. Demyx drew back, and Braig waited, not giving up the ground he’d gained, but not coming closer, either. Demyx studied him for a moment, then quietly said, “Just…slow down.”

The words sounded strange as they left his mouth, and Demyx got the sense that he was saying them for Braig’s benefit as much as his own. He couldn’t help wondering if even one request was too much of an inhibition for Braig, and would send him right back out the door. But when Braig leaned in for another kiss, he did move slower, though not gentler or softer. He accommodated Demyx exactly as much as he was asked to, no more and no less.

Demyx let Braig tug his shirt off, helping him with his own as they got down on the bed. When he passed his hands over Braig’s shoulders and felt extra tension in them, he said, “Hey, we can take a minute if you—”

Braig kissed him full on the mouth, and it was Demyx’s turn to roll his eyes, unwilling to participate in such a stupid cliché. He grabbed Braig’s face and pushed him back, holding him there. “Seriously. It’s been a while. Are you okay?”

“If you’re asking whether I’ll be able to _do_ this—”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

After a brief pause, Braig looked Demyx in the eye, and Demyx looked right back, sympathetic but not acquiescent, as if he were trying to ease some sort of admission out of him. Finally, Braig said, “I’m good,” and leaned down again to kiss Demyx’s neck.

“You sure?”

“_Ma dai_, kiddo. _Yes_, I’m sure.”

“‘Cause if…I dunno, if you’re still technically recovering, or whatever—”

“Demyx.” Braig closed his eye, gathering his patience while Demyx went still beneath him. With a deep breath and a quiet sigh, Braig said, “After. Yeah?”

Demyx nodded and let Braig get back to work, responding to his unspoken “please.” But he could only wait a moment before he asked, “So…does that mean you’re gonna stick around for a while this time?”

“Might as well,” Braig mumbled against Demyx’s shoulder. “‘m goin’ stir-crazy being stuck at my own place for weeks.”

That raised a whole new slew of questions and concerns, and while Demyx had agreed not to bring them up yet, his nerves had to find an outlet somewhere. He ended up peppering the silence with inane little comments, like mentioning how cold it was outside, even for November, or pointing out the new lamp he’d gotten since the last time Braig came over. He was almost grateful when Braig clamped his hand on his mouth and all but hissed, “_Stai zitto, bello. Sono venuto qui per scopare, non parlare_.”

For a few seconds, Braig had some peace and quiet, broken only by a couple of enjoyably muffled sounds. Suddenly, he ripped his hand away, grimacing in disgust. “_Fuck_,” he snarled, wiping his palm on the sheets and then, spitefully, on Demyx. “Stop _licking_ me.”

“Serves you right, asshole,” Demyx said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand until Braig took his wrist and pulled it away, replacing it with his own mouth. Demyx wasn’t sure if he was being kissed to be silenced again, or if petty revenge and mild attitude were just Braig’s aphrodisiacs. After working and sleeping with the man for the better part of two years, Demyx had to assume it was both.

Sniping at each other melted those final barriers and set them back to normal faster than anything else. Demyx undid Braig’s ponytail, putting the elastic on his own wrist as he shook the black-and-gray hair loose around them. Braig even let a few spontaneous phrases escape in the heat of the moment, gasping in what Demyx was now one hundred percent sure was his mother tongue, “_Vieni qui, vieni qui, vieni da me, sei mio_.”

Afterward, lying side by side, Demyx managed to catch his breath enough to say, “_Bravo_,” one of the few Italian words he knew, and solely through social osmosis. Braig snorted, and Demyx let him relax for a while, figuring he deserved as much after the past month, and especially the past ten minutes. But Braig had promised to talk, or at least to let Demyx talk, and for all his glaring personality flaws, he was a man of his word. That must have been why he so rarely gave it.

“Well, sorry again about the bet,” Demyx said when he thought Braig had had enough of a chance to cool down. “Guess this wasn’t your lucky evening, huh?”

“Ehh, not like I ever win those bets, anyway. And if you’re fishin’ for compliments, then I’ll let you know I prefer guys with no standards. Takes the pressure off.”

“Sounds like you missed me.”

“All through the week, Dem.”

“Been a little longer than a week this time.” Braig didn’t take that bait, simply adjusting the pillow to give his neck more support. Demyx picked at the flaking paint on his headboard. “So…did you?”

Despite his weariness, Braig laughed. “You’re seriously asking?”

“It’s just, you didn’t text or anything. Which I get,” Demyx added before Braig could give him a look. “Recuperating. I got it. But even after you came back to work…I mean, if I hadn’t texted you tonight, how long would it have taken you to get your ass over here?”

Braig shrugged. “Ball was in your court, the way I figured. It’s not like I go out chasing down prospective hookups. I take the opportunities as they come.”

“…you know, I see you scavenge for food all the time at the club. But I didn’t realize scavenging for sex was, like…a _thing_. Doesn’t seem like it should work.”

“Been working pretty well so far,” Braig said through a yawn. He scooted away when Demyx tried to get closer beneath the sheets, and then a second time, nudging him with his shoulder. “You’re crowdin’ me.”

“It’s my bed. And I’m cold.”

“So splurge on the electricity bill for once and turn up the heat in here.”

“Why do you think I invited _you_ over?”

Braig gave him an unimpressed look, but his gaze was drawn to Demyx’s neck, where whatever he saw made him raise his eyebrows. “What?” Demyx asked, and Braig smirked, turning his face toward the ceiling again. “Seriously, what? Is it a spider?” Demyx swiped at himself until his hand passed over a sore spot. He slowed down, pressing gently along his neck until he found it again. “Dude…did you give me a _hickey_?”

Braig chuckled, and Demyx groaned. “_How_ old are you again?”

“Heh, nice try.”

“_Ugh_…do you know how much concealer I’m gonna waste covering this up? Isa’s gonna kick my ass if I show up to work like this.”

“Please. He gives his husband verbal love bites on company time every day.”

Demyx pressed the spot again, frowning. “Kinda stings, honestly.”

“Oh, poor you.”

As always, Braig’s attitude was shitty at best, and Demyx knew it, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. He touched the scar on Braig’s jaw gently until his hand was swatted away. “Quit it.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I want you poking my face. Why’re you so hung up on this, anyway? Didn’t you say the scars looked cool?”

“I said your grays made you look cool.”

“Well, I must look fuckin’ incredible now. No way they haven’t doubled since last month.” He glanced at Demyx, expecting a laugh or a snarky retort. “…what?”

“You should be more careful. You _should’ve_ been more careful.”

“Yeah? Bold words from the guy who was swinging his feet on a bar stool like a sitting duck till he got dragged to some actual fuckin’ shelter. You’re _welcome_, by the way.”

“No one told you to jump over the bar and join the fight. What do you think Dilan and Aeleus are there for? They managed to do crowd control without ending up in the ICU.”

“And why do you think that is? Not to hoist my own flag here, but you know how many threats I neutralized before they even hit Dilan’s radar?” Demyx waited, saying nothing. “Yeah, you don’t. That’s the _point_. And I dunno why you’re getting so pissy at me for saying any of this. I told you: all I wanted to do was come here and fuck.”

“Well, mission accomplished. Now I wanna talk. You hauled me across the counter in two seconds flat,” Demyx began, while Braig rubbed his face with both hands, nearly displacing his eyepatch, “but you couldn’t have been a _little_ more careful with yourself? I mean, look at you. Your entire body is a testament to living way too close to the edge.”

Braig dragged his hands down his face as if he were trying to peel it off. “You know, just because you live in la-la land and think every situation is an emergency, that doesn’t mean the rest of us are incapable of handling our shit.”

“And just because _you_ think being some kind of jaded, cynical douchebag is cool, that doesn’t mean I’m naive. I’m not a fucking Care Bear, dude. I just want—”

“The hell is a Care Bear?”

“_Listen_ to me,” Demyx said, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up with a pillow so he could look down at Braig. “I’m not, like…trying to make this more than it is, all right? If you wanna keep doing this with no strings attached, then don’t worry. Same here. But that doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit. We work together. I _like_ you. I don’t wanna live my life acting like anyone in it could disappear at any second. It gives me the creeps.”

“That _is_ life. Anything can happen to anyone, anytime.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m not an idiot. But only fucked up daredevils like you actually _live_ that way.”

Braig sighed. "Look. Every one of these scars was a calculated risk. Might’ve cut it a little close with this one,” he added, tapping the newest addition. “I’ll grant you that, if it’ll shut you up. But it wasn’t like I made it out on sheer luck. I know what I’m doing. I take the damage I can handle, and if it’s more than that, I'm out.”

Demyx furrowed his brow, less reassured by that explanation the more he thought about it. “Calculated risks, huh?”

“More or less, yeah. It’s a learning curve.”

“How about those shitty lungs of yours?”

“Nah, that was just me bein’ a dumbass. Way too late to start lecturing now, though. You wanna make a real difference, then go back in time, find ten-year-old me, and smack the cigarette outta his hand.”

Demyx laughed at his blasé tone, though he thought that what Braig said was the very antithesis of funny. Still, he seemed to be in a sharing mood, and Demyx, after chewing on it for a moment, took a calculated risk of his own. “And the eye? Was that a ‘calculated risk’ too?”

“Yep,” Braig said, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his good eye. It was hard to know if he was being intentionally dismissive to make Demyx drop the subject, or if he was just plain telling the truth. Either way, Demyx realized that Braig had been right. He didn’t want to know what was underneath the eyepatch, and in the end—or at least in this moment—he didn’t even want to know how it had come to be. He was going down a rabbit hole and still had a chance to catch himself before the drop.

“…well, it’s on-brand for you, I guess. But if you want my opinion?”

“Don’t think I do.”

“You can probably lay off for a while,” Demyx said anyway. “Y’know, with the scars and stuff. Let ‘em age a little before you go getting any new ones.”

Braig smiled faintly. “Preachin’ to the choir, kiddo.”

Demyx studied his face, then let his gaze drift, following the ragged pink stripe down his neck. He reached for it again, conspicuously enough for Braig to see it coming and swat his hand away a second time. Demyx swatted him back, and Braig flicked the side of his head. Demyx tugged his hair, and Braig laughed a little meanly as he pulled him closer. Demyx shoved Braig’s chest with his shoulder, but his protesting was just a formality, covering up his relief that Braig was indulging his silliness without giving him too hard a time.

At least until Braig escalated their little play-fight by grabbing Demyx’s chin and running his tongue all the way up the side of his face. He let Demyx squirm away, cackling as he demanded to know, “What the _shit_ is _wrong_ with you, dude?”

“In it to win it,” Braig said as Demyx ground the back of his hand against his face.

“_Ugh_. I know you fight dirty, but that’s just…_vile_.” Demyx started to get up to wash his face, but he let Braig pull him back down, grumbling as he rubbed his cheek.

By the time he finished drying his face, Braig was already settled in again, eye closed and expression about as content as Demyx had ever seen it. It was an odd sight, compounded by how strange the rest of their evening had been. Braig had never come over this late before, or on such short notice. He’d never let Demyx ask so many intrusive questions. He’d never even laid down like this, fully reclined, as if he were planning to fall asleep.

Demyx lay on his side, leaning on his elbow and resting his head in his hand. He played with Braig’s hair, which Braig always told him to stop doing—but unlike everything else Demyx did that apparently annoyed him, he never actually _made_ him stop. Again, Demyx let his gaze travel from Braig’s face down his body. Back when they'd first started hooking up, Demyx had been surprised to find that Braig didn't have any tattoos. Braig had said that he wouldn't waste munny marking up his body when life was doing it for free.

He'd tried a little harder back then, to play up the tough guy persona.

So it was a collage of scar tissue, not ink, that decorated Braig's arms and torso. The trace of a stab wound marred his left shoulder. A strange mark on his side was a mystery to Demyx, though he couldn’t help jumping to the conclusion that it was caused by the graze of a bullet. There were several burn marks as well—definitely one or two from cigarettes, but a few others that looked like they held more complicated stories. And beyond these stand-outs, there were dozens of surface-level nicks and scratches, hardly worth their own histories as far as Braig was concerned.

Any number of those scars could have come from the brawl, and at this point, Demyx wouldn’t know the difference. He’d given up trying to memorize them a long time ago. He wondered if Braig even bothered keeping track anymore. And as he looked back up at his face, oddly at ease and unalert, Demyx couldn’t help wondering if Braig’s so-called R&R had truly involved any rest or relaxation.

Impulsively, but calmly, Demyx turned Braig’s head toward him, letting it stay on the pillow. Braig opened his eye, and Demyx looked at him just long enough to imprint that remarkably unguarded expression in his mind. Then he laid his hand along the side of Braig’s face, leaned down, and kissed him.

After all the time spent second-guessing himself and grappling with his dual reactions around Braig, Demyx was amazed that he could make the man falter with such a simple action. They had never kissed just for the sake of it; Braig always seemed to regard it strictly as an element of foreplay, nothing more. And when he finally kissed Demyx back, it was almost absurd how satisfying his hesitation was.

He still tasted faintly of whatever liquor he’d been downing before he came over, but Demyx figured that was a better way for alcohol to enter his bloodstream than getting his throat slashed with a broken bottle. He kissed him a little more firmly at the memory. Braig’s cheek was unevenly scratchy, but Demyx ran his fingertips over it, pulling away just enough to look at his face again.

Braig stared back, neutral and present, still waiting for whatever the kiss was a prelude to. Demyx wondered how long he could keep looking at him, how long Braig would have let the kiss go on, if this was a full shift in their dynamic or just an odd, off-road moment. In the end, Demyx simply decided to cut them both some slack.

“You need to start shaving again.”

Braig waited a second too long for his reaction to seem natural, but he scoffed and shoved Demyx’s face away. “Haven’t heard any complaints so far.”

Demyx retrieved an extra pillow from the floor and tucked it under his head, reveling in his newfound ability to catch Braig by surprise. But his memories quickly rewound to earlier that evening, when Braig had first shown up, and Demyx frowned. He wondered if his suspicions had been correct after all, and if Braig's disheveled state was a sign that he wasn't coping well with recent events. On the other hand, maybe that was just how Braig always was in his free time. On the clock, he was a sleazy but quick-witted, bizarrely charming bartender, and off the clock, he was a booze-swilling, Italian-yammering mess, and maybe it really was just as simple as that.

Demyx leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. However fun and exciting the evening had been, he didn't think catching Braig off guard was something he wanted to make a habit of.

Braig shifted beside him, and Demyx scooted over to let him get up and hit the shower before he left. But Braig merely stretched his legs, then settled into bed again, his eye still closed. “You falling asleep over there?” Demyx said with a laugh.

“Mhmm.”

“…wait. Seriously?”

“Said I was stickin’ around, didn’t I?” Braig mumbled. Demyx watched him for a few minutes, just to make sure it wasn't a joke. When Braig only relaxed further, showing no sign of getting up, Demyx cautiously returned to where he'd been lying before.

He knew better than to expect Braig not to steal all the covers in the middle of the night, or possibly try to kick him out of bed to make more room for himself. And he knew better than to expect that Braig would even be there when he woke up the next morning. But Demyx reached across him to turn off the light and sidled up next to him, and while there were no more _vieni quis_ coming out of Braig’s mouth, he didn’t shove Demyx away again, either. He rested his arm casually over Demyx's shoulders as he settled in, letting him stay exactly as close as he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't even part of my original outline. I wrote it on a whim, and I'm so glad I did. It's legitimately one of my favorite chapters in the entire series.


	3. Something I've Meant To Ask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter, with Lea, Isa, and Lea's mom.

It seemed odd at first, that Isa would take Lea out for dinner on a Thursday when his birthday fell so conveniently on a Saturday this year. But when Isa revealed that he’d already made plans for them to go away that weekend, fireworks started going off in Lea’s brain, and they wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried not to jump to conclusions. Reining in impulses and managing expectations were never really his forte.

And this felt big, even for a birthday. Isa wouldn’t tell him much, but he’d been planning so _meticulously_ that it was hard for Lea not to let his imagination get the better of him. According to Isa, their upcoming trip was supposed to be Lea’s birthday present, but if that were the case, then why go to the trouble of having a birthday dinner at home, just a couple days before? All signs pointed to Isa planning to ask the question that weekend.

Then again, all signs could just as easily point to Isa being Isa, setting up a plethora of celebrations because he didn’t believe Lea should want for anything. _Goddamnit,_ Lea thought as he gazed out the window at the horizon, saturated by the famous Twilight Town sunset._ I love him so much and he makes everything so tricky_. He was so focused on figuring out how Isa would go about asking, assuming he was even planning to ask in the first place—hell, maybe it would fall to _Lea_ to ask, a possibility he hadn’t considered and one that terrified him to his core—that he didn’t notice Isa was speaking until he heard his name.

“Huh?” Lea blinked away from the sunlight, and as he slowly sank back into the here and now, he realized that he’d been completely ignoring Isa for the past couple minutes. He chided himself, remembering that no matter what may or may not happen that weekend, this was a special event on its own. They were supposed to be celebrating his birthday, and there he was, letting his brain run amok and distract him while Isa sat one small tabletop away.

“Sorry,” Lea said, struggling to put all the daydreams and wild assumptions out of his head. “I was just…thinking about something else. What were you saying?” When Isa gave him a judgmental look, Lea said, “Sorry! Seriously, I’m being an ass. I’m here now. What’s up?”

Isa continued to stare, trying to accept that _that_ was the preamble he had to work with. He took a breath and sighed, repeating with over-the-top slowness and deliberation, “I _said_: Lea, will you marry me?”

The racing thoughts ceased to be a problem for Lea; every gear in his brain locked up at once. When all he managed to respond with was a quiet, disbelieving, “What?” he finally hit the limit of Isa’s patience.

“I’m not asking you a third time,” he said as he sat back in his chair, officially done trying to hold Lea’s hand through this process. A minute ago he’d been overcome with emotion, barely brave enough to ask, and now it took all his willpower not to actively resent the fact that _this_ was the way their proposal story was turning out.

Softly, almost in awe, Lea said, “Holy shit.”

Isa, who had been rubbing his temple, held his hand out at the side of his head. “I don’t know what the fuck that means, Lea. Is that a yes? Are you saying yes?”

Lea nodded, and Isa softened a little, amazed at how quickly Lea could annoy him and, mere moments later, melt his annoyance away again. “Good,” he said with a small smile, and seeing him lighten up a bit sparked something in Lea.

“Holy shit,” he said again. “Oh my god. Do you have a ring?”

“No. Engagement rings are a scam.”

“Atta boy. Now, how should we—where should—” Lea covered his face, took a deep breath, and lowered his hands as he exhaled, and Isa was struck by how young that gesture made him look. It was like when they were children, when Lea’s enthusiasm was so overwhelming that he had to physically contain it. Isa had usually been no help, often egging Lea on, both fascinated by his emotional openness and on some level trying to vicariously live through it.

“_When_ should we do it?” Lea finally asked. “Do you have a date in mind?”

“No. I figured we’d decide together.” Isa folded his hands in his lap as he gathered his thoughts. “I was thinking—since I can’t imagine us having to plan a ceremony or anything like that, we could do it sooner rather than later. Maybe…before we start college?”

He looked nervous, and Lea smiled warmly to ease it away. “Sounds good to me,” he said, unable to keep from grinning. Isa smiled again, and after a few moments, Lea looked at him with more focus and asked, almost breathless, “Can I kiss you?”

Isa’s smile faded. He was about to say no for the third time, but before he answered, he glanced around the restaurant. It was quiet enough that the neighboring tables could probably hear their conversation. But it was dimly-lit and upscale. Everyone was paying attention to their own meals and dining companions. And even if some of them weren’t…what was really going to happen? After a moment of deep hesitation, even more nerve-wracking than when he’d asked the question in the first place, Isa said, “Yes.”

It came out as a whisper, and he realized he had no idea what Lea was even going to do with an entire table between them. But Lea slid the small candle out of the way and leaned forward on crossed arms, and Isa made himself lean in as well, meeting him halfway.

It was only a few seconds before Isa pulled away, but it wasn’t with a jolt of anxiety, just a conscious retreat back into his comfort zone. Regardless, he left Lea looking absolutely thrilled. “Oh my god,” he said with a stunned smile on his face while Isa rearranged his napkin. “I can’t believe this. You want me to _marry_ you.”

“I don’t know why you can’t believe that.”

“Neither do I,” Lea said with a laugh, making Isa roll his eyes as they returned to their meals.

On the drive back to Radiant Garden, in the privacy of the car, it finally sank in the rest of the way for Lea. “That was _so_ sneaky. I mean, I’ve been stressing out about it for days. I really thought you were gonna wait till this weekend. Damn it, Isa. Why did you _do_ it like that?”

“You _are_ happy about this, right?” Isa asked as he tried to focus on driving and keep up with Lea’s train of thought at the same time.

“I’ve never been happier,” Lea assured him, sighing contentedly to prove it. He calmed down a bit once they passed the town line, but before they reached the town itself, he said, “Hey, pull over a sec.”

“Why?”

“Just pull over. Right here.” Isa complied, letting the car drift to a stop on the shoulder of the road. “Put it in park.”

“_Lea_—”

Lea reached over and did it himself before Isa could protest, then leaned in and kissed him excitedly. He pulled away and smiled as if the kiss were a lead-in to whatever romantic thing he was about to say: how much this meant to him, or how he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of their lives together. He looked back and forth between Isa’s eyes, and without saying anything, he simply leaned in and kissed him again, much more slowly. The fact that Isa fumbled for the hazard lights before kissing him back only enhanced the moment for Lea, rather than detracting from it. After a few minutes, Lea finally moved away again to say, “I love you.”

Isa kissed him one more time, that brief “punctuation” kiss he so often put at the end of a longer one. “Love you, too.” After listening to a few more clicks of the hazards, Isa quietly said, “Can we go home now?”

Lea agreed to that, but as Isa put the car back in gear, he grabbed his arm. “Oh, shit. Was Ma in on this?”

Isa had to fight back his biggest smile of the evening as he pulled onto the road. “No,” he said, deeply satisfied by the look of surprise on Lea’s face. “I thought you’d want to tell her yourself.”

Lea stared at Isa in almost incomprehensible wonder, and then had to look out the window as he grinned, his joy unable to be confined to the inside of the car. “_God_, Isa,” he said, looking up at the few stars he could see as they finally entered town. “This is the best night of my life.”

“So far,” Isa said as he took them back to the Borough.

* * *

Lea all but kicked the front door in when they got back to the house. “MA,” he called, ignoring Isa’s attempts to get him to quiet down. “MA, YOU HOME?”

“Lea, good _grief_,” Ms. Quinlan said from the kitchen. “Use your indoor voice and your nine p.m. voice, _please_.”

“Ma, we got news!”

“Yeah? You heard back about your dorm arrangements?”

“Well, yeah, but—Isa, come _on_.”

Lea grabbed Isa by the front of his coat before he could take it off, let alone hang it on the hook, and started pulling him down the hall. Isa stumbled sideways a few steps before shoving Lea off him, and he straightened out his coat as he followed his boyfriend—_fiancé_, he reminded himself—into the kitchen. He waved at Ms. Quinlan, who gave him a dish glove-clad wave of her own from the sink.

“Hey, Isa. Did you have a nice dinner?”

“Yes, thanks,” he said, trying not to laugh as Lea stood beside him, forced to wait his turn to talk and nearly exploding with impatience.

“Good,” she said, glancing at her son and bracing herself for whatever he was dying to say. “All right, kiddo. What’s up?”

“GUESS WHO’S GETTING MARRIED?”

“_What_?” Lea held his arms out at his sides, the most explanation he could give, and Ms. Quinlan—in neither an indoor nor a nine p.m. voice—replied, “NO WAY.”

“Yes way!”

“GET OUTTA TOWN AND TAKE A BUS, OH MY _GOD_.” She gave Lea an impulsive shove for emphasis, leaving two wet handprints on his shirt, and Lea took a step back, laughing when he noticed the look on Isa’s face.

“She’s happy,” he assured him, and Ms. Quinlan waved her hands uselessly, sending flecks of dish soap around the room.

“I am, I am,” she promised, making herself quiet down. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Are you serious? Tell me right now. I can’t handle this if it’s a joke. Are you telling me that you’re _literally_ getting married?”

“We’re literally getting married!”

“God_damn_,” she said, combining it with a fist pump. Isa laughed as a nervous reflex, unable to fully understand her reaction, though it did help him understand Lea’s mannerisms a little better. She caught Lea in a tight hug, and then—just like her son—she reached out to Isa, grabbed the front of his coat, and pulled him in with a loving but demanding, “Get over here, you.”

Isa obliged, though she hadn’t left him with much of a choice. It wasn’t quite a group hug, just Ms. Quinlan hugging the two of them and them hugging her back as she said, “God, I can’t believe this. I mean, obviously I can. You know what I’m saying.”

“No one knows what the hell you’re saying, Ma. You’re babbling.”

“You’re getting _married_,” she repeated, as if they didn’t know. She released them, still reeling from the news. “When did this happen?”

“Tonight,” Lea replied while Isa tried to rub soap suds off his coat sleeve. “At dinner.”

“I thought that’s why you were going away this weekend.”

“So did I!” Lea said, delighted that he wasn’t the only one who’d been blindsided. “Mr. Mastermind over here launched a sneak attack.”

“Honestly, I thought he’d catch on sooner,” Isa said. “The idea was to do it tonight and then have the weekend to celebrate.”

“Well, damn,” Ms. Quinlan said. “That’s genius. So you literally _just_ found out?”

“Less than an hour ago,” Lea confirmed.

“We wanted to come straight home after,” Isa added. “We weren’t going to go away without telling you.”

“Yeah. You gotta be the first to know.”

Ms. Quinlan looked more emotional than Isa—or Lea, for that matter—could ever remember seeing her. “Oh, I can’t believe this,” she said again, almost to herself. “My boy is getting married. Hell, my _boys_ are getting married.”

The pair exchanged glances, sharing silent apprehension. “We don’t really have to go,” Isa began. “We could just stay here this weekend and spend some time at the house.”

“Yeah, you look like you’re about to have a nervous breakdown or something, Ma,” Lea added, stepping all over Isa’s attempt at subtlety. Ms. Quinlan shook her head firmly.

“No, no, no. Absolutely not. You’re going on your trip and you’re going to have a great time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me, Isa. We’re gonna do our celebrating tonight. Right now. I’m taking you two to dinner.”

“Ma, where did we _just_ come from?”

“How about dessert?”

“We had dessert.”

“Champagne, then.”

“No way. You don’t need to go and spend—”

“_Lea_,” she said, cutting him off before he could finish the obvious end of that sentence. “We are going to the corner store to buy champagne because—and you know I don’t play this card often—I’m your mother and I said so.”

Lea couldn’t argue with that, nor did he really care to try, and after he changed into a shirt with less dishwater on it, the three of them were off. They returned with an inexpensive but better-than-cheap bottle of champagne, and after making sure everyone was comfortable with a glass in the family room, Ms. Quinlan said, “Okay, tell me everything. Which restaurant did you go to? Isa, were you nervous? Lea, did you _seriously_ not see this coming?”

“He really didn’t,” Isa answered for him, trying not to laugh at the memory. “He was so distracted the first time I asked that he completely missed it. I had to propose to him _twice_.”

“I was distracted because I was thinking about you proposing to me.”

“You said you were thinking about something else.”

“I thought I was!”

They went back and forth with a few teasing shoves while Ms. Quinlan smiled. “Well, do you have a date in mind? Do you have any plans? I know it’s early,” she added, trying not to get ahead of herself. “Just brainstorming. Still trying to wrap my mind around this.”

Lea gave Isa one final nudge back to his own side of the couch as he thought it over. “I dunno. I never pictured, like, a _wedding_ wedding, you know? Not really my style.”

“Besides,” Isa said, “the guest list might be kind of sparse.”

“So…what, you’ll just go down to the courthouse and get a license?”

Lea exchanged a glance with Isa and shrugged. “Works for me.”

“It’s cost-efficient,” Isa added, smiling a little before he went on. “Of course…we’d need a third party to be a witness.”

“Yeah, how about it, Ma? Wanna be part of our super deluxe wedding ceremony?”

“I know you’re trying to be funny,” she said, “but I’d be honored.”

“Great,” Lea said, beaming at her, then at Isa. “Well, damn. Let’s do it tomorrow, then. Turn our weekend trip into the honeymoon.”

“Well, hold on,” his mother said. “I want to make sure I can get a full day off work for this. I should at least be able to take you out to lunch for the reception.”

“Aw, c’mon. What are you always saying? Don’t wait. Act.”

She tried to give him an unamused look for turning her own words against her, but it was a weak effort, overcome by how touched she was that her silly advice from when Lea was a kid had made such a lasting impression. “We’ll wait,” Isa promised her. “We’re definitely not doing it tomorrow, at least. Think about it long-term, Lea. An anniversary followed immediately by a birthday is just…excessive.”

Lea tilted his head before taking another sip of champagne, ceding that point. They agreed to plan for sometime in August, pending Ms. Quinlan’s schedule, and they spent the remainder of their evening together, sharing stories and celebrating like the family they would soon legally become.

* * *

At the hotel, Isa hung back and watched Lea explore their room, seeing traces of the boy he’d first met ten years ago, too excited and nervous and happy to keep his own brain from firing in eight different directions at once.

“_Damn_, Isa,” he said, tilting his head back and turning in a circle as if it would help him better appreciate just how high the ceiling was. “How’d you even afford this?”

“A lifetime of saving my munny because I didn’t think I was allowed to spend it on frivolous things.” At a brief glance from Lea, Isa added, “It’s fine. But we’ll probably have to skimp on the honeymoon.”

“Psh. This _is_ the honeymoon,” Lea said, scoping out the size of the bathroom. “We always do things out of order anyway, right? I mean, Jesus, you let me sleep with you for a year before I even said I loved you.”

“It wasn’t exactly a chore.”

Lea snickered, turning the bathroom light off and glancing at Isa. He was leaning against a support beam, arms folded, obviously aiming for a casual look. But one leg was bent, his toe tapping straight down on the floor to get rid of some nervous energy.

“Hey,” Lea said, taking a break from swooning over the room to stand by Isa. “This is great. Seriously.” He leaned down, making sure Isa met his eye, and tucked some of his hair behind his ear. “I don’t care how we do any of this. All I want is to be with you. Everything else is incidental.”

Isa looked into his eyes, smiling a bit, and Lea smiled warmly in return for a few seconds before he added, “Having said that…this room is fucking sick. I mean, there’s a _balcony_? Get a load of that sunset.” He was already on his way, sliding the door open, and Isa followed, still a little new to congratulating himself, but deciding as he looked around that he _had_, at the very least, picked out a fairly nice room.

* * *

When Isa awoke the next morning, he remembered why he had wanted to take this trip so badly. As much as he loved living at Ms. Quinlan’s house, he’d been dying to know what it was like to spend a full night with Lea, doing whatever they wanted, and waking up at their leisure without having to take another person’s schedule into consideration.

As it turned out, it was pretty enjoyable. And Isa was sure Ms. Quinlan was enjoying having the house to herself for the first time in…forever, he realized.

He couldn’t fall asleep again once he’d woken up, but he wasn’t too bothered. He brushed Lea’s hair back while he slept, smiling at how disheveled the spikes had gotten overnight, and at how easily he knew Lea would set them right with a few quick sweeps of his hands. Isa watched him for as long as he could before his ingrained habit told him it was time to get out of bed and do something productive to start his day.

He’d barely sat up when Lea reached out, his hand finding its way to Isa’s arm, holding it gently as he sleepily murmured, “Isa…”

Isa paused, hoping that he hadn’t caused Lea to wake up too early by playing with his hair. “What?” he said quietly. When Lea’s eyes remained closed and his breathing remained steady, Isa realized he hadn’t woken up at all, and his heart melted like an ice cream bar in the summer sun. He let the sound of his own name, sleep-spoken from Lea’s lips, echo in his head a few times before he lay down again, resolving to get out of bed only when Lea did, and not a second sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for reference, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4o-dLXUMbzQ) is what's playing in the restaurant when Isa proposes.


	4. Many Thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: the Higanbana crew (briefly), but mostly just Ienzo, Aeleus, and Even.

The holiday mood crept into Higanbana like an invasive vine. Lea announced before his shifts that he was off to “don his gay apparel.” Demyx departed every night with a cheery, “Challah atcha later!” Braig repeatedly hung mistletoe over the bar, and Isa repeatedly walked by with a broom to swat it down.

These were all long-standing and done-to-death traditions, but this year, Ienzo’s status as an honorary member of the crew introduced some new ones. Dilan and Aeleus recruited his critical eye to make sure they were hanging the garland evenly. Demyx tried—undeterred by constant failure—to teach the kid how to spin a dreidel. “It’s just like snapping your fingers,” he said, mildly discouraged and a little confused when Ienzo confessed that he didn’t _know_ how to snap his fingers. They decided to call it quits when Ienzo somehow managed to launch the toy across the room like a projectile. Braig’s “Incoming!”—sarcastic as it may have been—was the only thing that enabled Lea to duck in time.

Isa tried to reel his coworkers in, frequently met with a mocking “bah, humbug” or lines from _How The Grinch Stole Christmas_. His attempts to remind everyone that it was November 27 were drowned out by Braig cranking the volume on the umpteenth round of “All I Want For Christmas Is You.”

Isa had never understood why their sound system had a dial at the bar. Seemed like a major design flaw to him.

Like every year, the club was closed from the day before Thanksgiving all the way through the weekend. It was the only holiday that was both significant enough to warrant time off, and yet dull enough that no one wanted to spend that time off partying, and it wasn’t worth the cost of business to keep the place open. Marluxia hardly even acknowledged Thanksgiving, preferring to hit their patrons with the Christmas spirit full force when they wandered back the following Monday, mostly to maximize the sale of overpriced seasonal drinks.

Wednesday was therefore their only chance to get the Christmas decorations up. It was time-consuming, but with Ienzo pitching in, the process went much smoother than usual. As troublesome as he had tried to be earlier that year, he’d been remarkably well-behaved and even helpful over the past few months. Aeleus, Demyx, and Braig—in their own ways—had let Isa know how crucial Ienzo was in passing their summer health inspection, and Isa had taken unexpected delight in how embarrassed the kid seemed by their combined praise.

As they finished setting up for the afternoon, they casually discussed their holiday plans. Demyx didn’t have much going on. Dilan was traveling back to his hometown to see his family, whom he spoke about with his typical stoicism on the surface, but with unmistakable warmth and admiration underneath. Ienzo said that he and his father never did anything special for Thanksgiving, which didn’t exactly come as a surprise to the others.

Lea shared that he and his mom didn’t used to be big on Thanksgiving, either, but that was mostly due to a lack of time and funds. “I didn’t realize you grew up that strapped for cash,” Dilan remarked, dusting some green flecks of garland off his shirt.

“Yeah, we were basically one bad paycheck away from a charity basket. She always got me something special for dessert, though. Usually one of those mini apple pies from the grocery store.”

“Speaking of which,” Isa said, “we should leave now if we want to beat the traffic.” He handed Lea his coat, putting his own on as he quickly assessed the decorations. “Looks good, everyone. Dilan, Aeleus, will you be all right finishing up?”

“Sure,” Aeleus said, glancing at his watch. “Early for you. Where you headed?”

“Traverse Town,” Lea said. “Only place to get an authentic childhood dessert.”

“You’re shittin’ me,” Braig laughed. “Three hours round-trip for an apple pie?”

“No, three hours round-trip for _nostalgia_.”

“Pfft. Momma’s boy.”

“Hell yeah,” Lea said. “I love my Ma.” He helped Isa get his hair out of the back of his coat, and when the two of them were ready, they wished everyone a pleasant Thanksgiving, and off they went, not to be seen or heard from for five wonderful days.

Dilan left forty minutes later to catch his train. Demyx decided to head out as well, and a glance around the room revealed that Braig had already managed to slip out unnoticed. Aeleus finished locking up while he chatted with an unusually laconic Ienzo, asking what the kid had on his agenda for the long weekend.

“Sleep,” Ienzo replied, and he looked like he could use it. When Aeleus asked if school was overwhelming him, Ienzo shrugged. “It’s not hard. It’s just a lot. I have college applications and essays to finish up, and if I want to make valedictorian, I can’t slack in the home stretch.”

“Does it look like you'll get it?”

“Probably. They make the official announcement over winter break, but it’s not a guarantee. There’s always a chance someone might edge you out in the last semester. It's unlikely, but...” Aeleus nodded as he locked up everything at the bar, and Ienzo straightened out a few garland vines that had gotten tangled along the stage. “How about you? Any plans for the weekend?”

“Not really. I’ll probably just stay in. I’m not thrilled about the cold this year.”

“Does your family live in Radiant Garden?”

“My parents live about five hours away. I probably won’t see them this year.”

“Do you have any other family nearby?” Ienzo asked, untwisting the garland methodically.

“No. Holidays were never really a family thing for us, anyway. Not that we don’t get along. We just don’t put a lot of emphasis on it, I guess.”

Somehow, this response took Ienzo down such a fast and natural train of thought that before he even realized what was about to come out of his mouth, he was already saying, “Would you like to spend Thanksgiving at our house this year?”

Aeleus paused, and Ienzo paused right back, sharing the surprise fifty-fifty. Luckily, Aeleus assured Ienzo that he wasn’t the only one speaking without thinking when he replied, “Whose house?”

“My house. My father’s house.” After another pause, Ienzo added, “For Thanksgiving.”

Aeleus slowly finished setting a chair onto a table and faced Ienzo, mulling his answer over this time. _Oh, perfect,_ Ienzo thought._ This has now become a full-blown discussion._

“Your father is opposed to commercialized religious holidays.”

“Yes.”

“But he’s willing to celebrate the start of a violent campaign against indigenous groups by European colonizers?”

“The lab’s closed for the weekend. He has nothing else to do.”

“…and you’d like for me to join you?”

“Well, it sounds like _you_ have nothing else to do, either.” And when Ienzo realized that his avoidance of emotional openness only made it sound like a pity invitation, he reluctantly said, “Yes, Aeleus. We’d like for you to join us.”

Aeleus regarded Ienzo curiously and a little dubiously, and Ienzo, as someone who generally held up well to scrutiny, waited for his answer. Finally, Aeleus said, “Well…as long as your father is okay with it.”

“He is. I’m sure he’d like to thank you for keeping me in mind during last month's incident,” Ienzo pointed out, hoping to a god he didn’t believe in that last month’s incident wouldn’t even come up in conversation. But this seemed to ease away just enough of Aeleus’s doubts for him to agree to come.

“All right, then,” he said. “Thank you, Ienzo. I’m looking forward to it.”

Ienzo nodded. “See you Thursday,” he said, relief washing over him as he finally walked out the door, and awkwardness flooding right back in when he returned a few seconds later, remembering that he needed Aeleus to give him a lift home.

* * *

Even looked up from his desk, squinting in confusion at his son, who stood in the doorway of his home office. “Who?” he asked, taking his glasses off and blinking as his vision adjusted.

“Aeleus.” The blinking turned to blank staring, at least as blank as Even’s face could get. “…from Higanbana? The club?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Even said, staring slightly past Ienzo now, trying to conjure up an image in a mind’s eye that—where faces were concerned—thoroughly lacked imagination. “Which one is he, again?”

“_Aeleus_.”

“Yes, Ienzo, we’ve established his name. That’s clearly not what I’m having trouble remembering.”

“Really tall? Called to let you know I was okay during, uh…last month?” Even shook his head with a shrug, openly lost. Ienzo was tempted to remind his father that he had once threatened to have the man arrested, but it seemed a safer choice to go with, “Drives me home, like, all the time? Just now, actually?”

“Ahh…” Even said, recollection dawning now that Ienzo had given an example that directly affected his life. “Yes, of course. I remember.” His relief at being able to identify this person after all quickly gave way to puzzlement. “You’d like to invite him for dinner?”

“For Thanksgiving, yeah.”

“Why?”

Ienzo shrugged. “He’s a friend. He looks out for me at the club. I know you still don’t like me going there, but he’s one of the reasons it’s so safe.” At Even’s skeptical look, Ienzo added, “_Usually_ so safe. But Aeleus was there during the incident. He helped stop the fight _and_ get the manager to the hospital, and he still found time to check on me afterward.”

It was a risk to reference the brawl at all, but Even looked like he was beginning to consider considering it. Ienzo decided to try his luck with an appeal to emotion—not always effective, but worth a shot. “It’s just that we were talking about Thanksgiving, and I found out that he doesn’t have any family in Radiant Garden. He lives alone, and he has no plans for the entire weekend.”

“We barely have plans ourselves. We’ll probably just prepare the usual for dinner.”

“It’s still more than he’d be having, from the sound of it.”

Even tapped his pencil on his leg, staring off at the bookshelf until he sighed. “It’s fine with me, I suppose. You gave him directions, yes?”

“…again, he drives me home, like, all the time.” Even gave him an obligatory dour look.

“Well, thank you for notifying me. I trust you don’t need any help with dinner?”

“Please don’t touch the stove.”

Even nodded, gazing into the middle distance of his home office. “I suppose the house should be cleaned. It hasn’t seen a proper guest in ages. We’ll need to do a lot of dusting over the next few days—and laundry. Not to mention the state of the windows…”

He worked through his mental checklist with such calm concentration that Ienzo was almost afraid to ask the most obvious question. “…you know it’s Wednesday, right?”

Even glanced at Ienzo, then at his apparently decorative wall calendar, still set unhelpfully to September. He glanced at Ienzo again, who—unable to turn back time or postpone federally-recognized holidays—shrugged. Even looked at the calendar one more time, and then, without a word, he rose from his chair and rushed to the kitchen.

It still caught Ienzo off guard sometimes, to see his father rush. It wasn’t a mad dash so much as a very brisk, focused, Terminator-like stride. Or so Ienzo assumed; he'd never actually seen _The Terminator_. He followed along when he heard the faucet running, knowing that he’d end up handling ninety-nine percent of the food prep instead of his usual ninety-six percent while his father blitzed through the house with a mop and duster like some implacable, lemon-scented force of order and cleanliness.

* * *

The first thing Ienzo heard the next morning—likely the very noise that had woken him in the first place—was his father spraying down surfaces and opening and closing kitchen cabinets. He sat up and stretched, resisting the temptation to pull the covers over his head and pretend he hadn't heard anything. He shook his hair out of his face, for the most part. It had taken him years of trial and error to achieve this particular look: neat enough to stay more or less out of his eyes, but messy enough to make his father’s hands itch to "correct" it. For all the amusement Ienzo derived from this harmless little torment, he did appreciate that Even had always resisted the urge to sit his son down and run a comb through his hair, even back when Ienzo was a child.

By the time Ienzo washed up and went to the kitchen, Even was still hard at work. “You _did_ sleep, right?” Ienzo asked. Even responded by handing him a spray bottle and cleaning cloth. “Am I allowed to have breakfast first?”

“The kitchen is a _mess_. And the dust in the family room—it’s unbelievable. When was the last time we _cleaned_?”

“When’s the last time we had company?”

“Have you washed the sheets yet?”

“I _just_ came downstairs. Good morning, by the way.”

Even switched his focus to the mop bucket, filling it with scalding water. Ienzo laid the cleaning supplies on the counter for now and went to the fridge. For fun, he ate breakfast and observed Even from the relative sanity of the dining table. He chewed silently and turned his head back and forth to follow his father’s hectic bustle in and out of the kitchen, which had become the central hub of his cleaning frenzy. But when Ienzo finally took up a cleaning mantle of his own, he went from mentally heckling his father's obsessive behavior to joining the fray.

It wasn’t long before they each became a flurry of disinfecting sprays and baseless accusations. Even was in such a rush to clean the carpet that he almost self-destructed when the vacuum refused to turn on. He demanded to know if Ienzo had stepped on the cord and pulled it out of the wall, and Ienzo stopped everything he was doing to stare at his father until he realized the cord was still wrapped neatly around the body of the vacuum. Not ten minutes later, Ienzo was in the bathroom, loudly and pointedly complaining about the dust on the fixtures and streaks on the mirror until his father reminded him—with more than a little vindication—that _he_ was the one who’d been in charge of cleaning the bathroom the night before. No apologies were exchanged, but Ienzo’s ears turned red as he put his head down and suddenly became very invested in scrubbing out the sink.

When he returned to the kitchen to check on dinner, he rushed to the stove (despite Even’s warning to _be careful_, he _just_ finished mopping) and fended his father off with a whisk. “You’re going to destroy what’s already a very meager meal!” Ienzo said, uncharacteristically frazzled and territorial about the kitchen appliances. Even looked appalled.

“I’m not going to _destroy_—that’s it. Five minutes in the time-out corner.”

“Oh, which corner is _that_?” Ienzo shot back, feeling like he was hitting more of a sassy note than a snarky one and fully aware that the whisk and apron weren’t doing him any favors. “The one you cleaned, or the one that’s _actually_ clean?”

“_Ten_ minutes!” Even replied, pointing at the family room, though not at any particular corner that Ienzo could see.

It was the most tense Thanksgiving morning they'd ever had, but they endured their trial by Lysol and, in Ienzo’s opinion, emerged on the other side all the more bizarre. At least the stress and running around had worn out some of their nerves. Ienzo had just dropped some vegetables in the tempura batter when he heard a loud but steady knock, and it was with mild confidence instead of extreme apprehension that he left his father to keep an eye on the food while he went to answer the door.

* * *

No matter how many times Aeleus had driven Ienzo home, nothing prepared him for how odd it felt to drive there now, especially without the boy accompanying him in the passenger seat. When he arrived at the Nozawa house, he couldn’t decide if it would be presumptuous to park directly in their driveway instead of at the curb. And as he parked in the driveway regardless, he realized that he hadn’t brought anything, and he wondered if that was strange, maybe even rude.

Food would have been a presumptuous thing to bring to a dinner, however, he thought as he went up the walkway. Maybe wine? Though Aeleus didn’t like wine, and Ienzo certainly wouldn’t have had any. The idea of Even downing an entire bottle himself was not only the most rude and presumptuous thing Aeleus could think of, but also a scenario he would’ve given just about anything to avoid. The man was more than enough to reckon with sober. Additionally, Aeleus didn’t know what kind of food they’d be serving—information that would have been useless anyway, as Aeleus had never known which wines went with which foods.

He figured, after that plain cul-de-sac of internal logic, that it was probably all right not to have brought anything. He stood at their front door resolutely and knocked, relieved when Ienzo alone showed up to welcome him.

“Hey,” Ienzo said, moving aside to let him through the door. “Thanks for coming. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Aeleus replied, stepping inside and following Ienzo’s instructions to leave his shoes on the mat. “Thanks again for having me. I, uh, didn’t bring anything. I hope that’s all right.”

Ienzo blinked. “What would you have brought?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t bring anything.”

“Well…good. We have everything we need, I think,” Ienzo assured him, glancing toward the kitchen. “Um, it’s all vegetarian. Is that a problem?”

“Why would that be a problem?”

“I don’t know.”

They stood in the foyer, not quite nodding, until Even, as if on cue, called from across the house, “Ienzo, are these ready to be taken out yet? I know you’ll want to do it yourself.”

“I’ll be right there!” Ienzo headed for the kitchen and beckoned for Aeleus to follow him, which he did, taking a quick look at his surroundings as they passed through the family room.

Aeleus had been touched by the invitation the day before, but actually standing in Ienzo’s home made him realize what a gesture of trust it was. It went beyond being invited into Ienzo’s space. The boy had chosen to welcome Aeleus into the environment that had produced him. There weren’t a lot of obviously sentimental items like family photos, but Aeleus didn’t see a lot of needlessly decorative items, either, leading him to assume that the objects he _did_ see—primarily books—had the double duty of being both practical and sentimental. From what little he knew about the Nozawas, he would have expected nothing less.

He followed Ienzo into the kitchen, finding the boy removing some food from the stove while his father set the table. “Hey,” Ienzo said as he looked up, both greeting Aeleus again and getting his father’s attention. “Dad, you remember Aeleus. Aeleus, you remember my dad,” he said, feeling as though he’d just given the most superfluous introductions of all time.

Aeleus stepped forward and offered his hand, which Even accepted with a handshake firm enough to take Aeleus by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. The doctor’s outburst all those months ago had lacked a lot of things, but confidence wasn’t one of them.

“Welcome,” Even said, a little formally but very cordially. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Thanks for having me,” Aeleus replied, trying to put the past threats of being arrested out of his mind. “It’s very generous of you.”

“Well, we don’t usually do much for the holiday. It’s not a large meal. But I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

They stood there for a few moments, already out of pleasantries, until Ienzo said, “Do you want a glass of water or…something? We don’t keep a lot of drinks in the house…”

“Water’s fine,” Aeleus said, hoping Ienzo could pick up on how grateful he was. “Thank you.”

But it was Even who got the drink for him, taking a glass from the table, which Aeleus now noticed was much closer to the ground than he’d anticipated. “Oh, you have one of—um?” He glanced at Ienzo for help, who glanced at the table, then back at him.

“A _chabudai_?”

“Yeah,” Aeleus agreed with an unnecessary gesture in its direction. Ienzo looked at it curiously, as if he were really seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly as he evaluated it. “I hope you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Aeleus replied. If the underside of the table had enough leg room, then there was no problem, and if it didn’t, then it didn’t, and there was no reason to stress anyone out about it until that point.

At the sink, Even filled the glass, dumped the water back out, repeated the process a second time, then finally filled it three quarters of the way and handed it to Aeleus. He took a brief and tiny sip before realizing that, while his new prop was very much appreciated, it didn’t solve their problem of having nothing to talk about. He offered to help with food prep or table setting, which Ienzo took him up on immediately. Both tasks were nearly done, but at least it provided the illusion of productivity.

They felt a little more comfortable once they were seated at the table, though it did take Aeleus a minute to situate himself. “Thank you again for inviting me,” he said. Ienzo thanked him again for joining them, Even nodded his assent, and together, the three of them began their dinner.

Aeleus wasn’t sure why he felt it was his responsibility as the guest to jump-start the conversation, but after a few bites, he said, “This is very good.”

“The noodles are a little overcooked,” Ienzo replied, and Aeleus looked at his plate, assessing them for himself.

“Well…they taste nice.” He took another sip of water and tried the vegetable tempura, which he also thought was good but was now wary of complimenting. “So, Ienzo,” he tried instead, “are you applying to any colleges other than RGU?”

“I’m on vacation, Aeleus.”

“Ienzo, stop being difficult,” Even said calmly, at the exact same time that Aeleus gave the kid a dry look. Ienzo resumed eating, clearly holding back a smile, but that exchange seemed to have broken the ice, and it wasn’t long before Aeleus and Even were conversing without needing Ienzo as a proxy. They kept the topics light at first, mostly centered on the food and how nice the Nozawa household was and where in town Aeleus lived. Aeleus wanted to ask about Even’s line of work, which he assumed would make for interesting and long-lasting conversation fodder, but he held back. They were getting along so far, and the last thing Aeleus wanted was for Even to reciprocate the question and ask Aeleus about _his_ job. Ienzo had been given a lot of leeway, both by the Higanbana crew and his own father, but Aeleus was still nervous about saying something that would make Even decide to never let his son set foot in the club again.

Of course, before Aeleus could meander his way into a safe topic, Even said, “So, that incident last month. Is that a typical problem for your establishment?”

Aeleus paused, and even Ienzo lowered his chopsticks and stared at his father, and then at Aeleus, trying to communicate that he was just as taken aback. “Um, no,” Aeleus said, falteringly but truthfully. “It really isn’t. I would say it was unprecedented. Though it—all things considered, it was resolved fairly quickly.” He left out the part where he’d had to go to the doctor to get glass picked out of his arm, and that another employee had broken his hand, and _especially_ that two others had gone to the emergency room and emerged with permanent facial scarring.

Thanks to these omissions, Even seemed satisfied with Aeleus’s response. “Good. The police arrived quickly?”

“Oh, absolutely. They handled everything. It was really only a few people who were causing trouble, and they all got taken into custody. The official statement even, um…”

He hesitated, trying to figure out how much to share without igniting Even’s paranoia and protectiveness over his son. He wondered if he could just let that sentence trail off into nothingness, but both Nozawas were waiting for him to go on. “Yes?” Even said.

“Well…according to the police report, the drug tests showed that five out of the seven agitators had traces of black powder in their systems. Again,” he hurriedly added, “this isn’t a common occurrence at all. I was shocked by it. But it’s not unheard of, I guess.”

“No,” Even said, agreeing with Aeleus much to the latter’s surprise. “It’s been a scourge of our community for decades. I thought it had become less prevalent in recent years.”

“Yeah, I mean, it has,” Aeleus said, feeling very weird about the fact that this, of all topics, was what had gotten Even to engage in a free-flowing conversation. “It’s still nowhere near as common as it used to be. And it’s barely around in Radiant Garden, so that’s a plus. It kind of fell off our radar, I guess. It’s bad, though. I don’t know how much you know about it, but it’s like a memory-wiper. It, uh, has the side-effect of increased aggression, too, apparently. But depending on how much a person takes, it can create ‘black spots’ in their memories.”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Even said, and Ienzo rolled his eyes, buckling up for a lecture. “But yes, I’m very familiar with its effects. This drug has significant overlap with research we’ve done at the lab.”

“Oh?” Aeleus said, a little amused that they had ended up discussing their respective jobs after all, in the most roundabout way he could have imagined.

“Yes. My field is neurology. Specifically memory-related diseases and disorders. So, as deplorable as these illegal substances are, I have to acknowledge that they do, in a way, align with my own work. We even conducted a study on black powder itself several years ago, though I’m sure the product that’s on the market today hardly resembles the one we analyzed. If only our research could move that fast,” he remarked with bitter humor.

“It sounds like very technical work,” Aeleus said, already feeling a new appreciation for it.

“Oh, it is,” Even began, sensing an opportunity to explain his field in greater depth. But he finally noticed the pointed look his son had been giving him for the past few minutes, and he scaled himself back. “It’s mostly a lot of scientific jargon. I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

“Oh. Um, that’s all right,” Aeleus said, a little disappointed but trusting the judgment of an expert. He refocused on his meal, complimenting Ienzo once again on his cooking, which Ienzo accepted with more grace than last time, and the three of them finished their dinner with less demanding topics of conversation.

Afterward, when Aeleus tried to clear his place, Even beat him to it with a swift order of, “Ienzo, take his dishes for him.”

“It’s fine, really,” Aeleus said as Ienzo dutifully stacked his plates and bowls and carried them to the sink. “I’d like to help.”

“Nonsense,” Even said, gathering his own dinnerware along with Ienzo’s. “You’re a guest. Please, relax. Make yourself at home. Ienzo and I will handle the cleaning.”

Aeleus hesitated, wanting to insist on helping out of politeness, but knowing it was entirely possible to insist to the point of rudeness. In addition, he was a little afraid to see how authoritative Even would become if he tried to argue the point, so Aeleus obediently made his way back into the family room. He drifted around, inspecting a few of the items on the shelves, pulling some books partway out and sliding them carefully back into place. When he felt he’d explored as much as he could without prying, he took a seat on the couch and tried, as he’d been instructed, to relax.

The quiet sounds of running water and dishes being dried and stacked were pleasantly repetitive, but as the cleaning went on, conversation floated in from the kitchen. Aeleus leaned to the side so he could hear it better.

“…just sitting out there by himself. It’s unacceptable.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let him clean. He’s doing exactly what you said.”

“Ienzo, don’t argue about this. Be a good host and go keep him company.”

“You _just_ told me to help you with the dishes.”

Aeleus fought back a sudden smile, sitting up straight again when he heard Ienzo’s exasperated but compliant sigh and his soft footsteps approaching. He and his father made an odd pair, but Aeleus had a feeling they’d be even odder apart.

He and Ienzo sat for a while, not talking about anything in particular, but letting the conversation take on a natural and comfortable flow. Even disrupted that balance slightly when he joined them, but only because Aeleus tried to be extra careful not to bring up his own line of work or make Even talk about his. Still, they had an enjoyable time, all things considered. The meal had been small but substantial, the conversation stilted but genuine, and the company a little bizarre, but nothing if not hospitable. When the sky began to darken and Even returned to the kitchen to make some tea, Aeleus took the opportunity to glance at his watch.

“Well, I guess I should be heading out soon. This was really nice, Ienzo. Thanks again for having me.”

“Oh,” Ienzo said, openly surprised. “Uh…sure. If you want.”

“If I want what?”

Ienzo looked like he wanted to fidget, but couldn’t figure out how to do so without broadcasting his discomfort. “It’s just…the invitation was for the whole vacation, not just the holiday. I thought it was understood that you were welcome to stay through the weekend.”

“Oh. I didn’t, uh—”

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to, if you’d rather go home, or if you have other plans, or something.”

“No, no. I just…didn’t realize.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing, either, so don’t worry about that. I mean, we have a guest room all set up…”

“Yeah, no, I just don’t have any stuff with me…”

They both trailed off, realizing that their back-and-forth attempts to assure each other not to feel awkward were only increasing their awkwardness. Aeleus laughed quietly, and Ienzo responded with a small smile.

“All right,” Aeleus said. “So, where did we leave off here?”

Ienzo took a breath and let it out decisively. It was something Aeleus had seen him do a few times at Higanbana, when he was particularly annoyed or felt like he was losing control of a conversation. For all the compliments he received on his inscrutable poker face, Aeleus wondered if Ienzo knew he had such a reliable tell.

It was honestly nice to see, and it made Ienzo’s following offer feel all the more sincere. “Aeleus, would you like to spend the holiday weekend here as our house guest?”

Aeleus smiled. “That sounds great, Ienzo. Thanks.” Ienzo nodded, and after a moment, Aeleus added, “…I still have to go home and get my stuff.”

This time, Ienzo laughed, nodding and sending Aeleus on his way. When Even emerged from the kitchen five minutes later with his tea, Ienzo could practically see questions marks materialize above his head. “Where did he go?” his father asked, looking around the sparsely-furnished room as if someone Aeleus’s size could possibly be hiding anywhere in it. “He didn’t leave already, did he?”

“He’s coming right back. We had a miscommunication. He didn’t realize he was invited for the weekend. He’s just gone to pick up a few things from his house.”

“_Tsk_, of _course_ he’s invited for the weekend. It’s only good manners. What kind of host would dismiss someone from their house on a _holiday_?” He muttered for a few minutes, interrupting himself to take sips of tea, and Ienzo didn’t bother rushing to Aeleus’s defense. His father had a way of ranting that seemed an awful lot like criticizing, but Ienzo learned long ago that it was simply his method of thinking out loud. His tone might have sounded aggressive, but his statements were ultimately neutral as neutral could be.

“So, he’ll be returning soon?”

“Within the hour, I’d imagine. He doesn’t live far.”

“Good,” Even said, glancing around the room. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. We spent far too much time cleaning this house for our guest to leave after a few measly hours.”

He returned to the kitchen, and as Ienzo looked around the dust-free family room, composed of as many right angles and parallel lines as possible, he was inclined to agree. If Aeleus weren’t returning, that would mean that he and his father had spent the better part of the past day cleaning their home from top to bottom, only to neglect to offer their guest a tour.

* * *

Of all the things Aeleus could have thought to bring with him to the Nozawa household, an overnight bag wouldn’t even have made the list. He felt incredibly strange as he walked through the front door with it, but Ienzo’s own well-meaning, self-conscious demeanor helped balance out the awkwardness. He showed Aeleus to the guest room and helped him settle in with such a stilted formality that Aeleus wondered how the Higanbana crew had _ever_ found the kid intimidating.

The rest of the evening was fairly quiet. They sat in the family room with tea and light snacks, continuing their discussions from dinner, and when Aeleus tried to steer the conversation back toward Even’s research, Even was eager to accommodate him.

The more he explained his field and his findings, the more Aeleus realized that the world of scientific research and development was much more volatile than he imagined. Even—and, by extension, Ansem—had pursued topics that crossed into controversial territory. Their interest was in the brain’s ability to recall and suppress specific memories, particularly those linked to physical or psychological trauma. They’d been careful with their findings and were still ages away from even thinking about moving on to human test subjects. But it had been a sensitive time for that kind of research, with black powder at the height of its popularity, eating holes in the town’s promising young minds. No matter their intentions, their studies bore too many similarities to the drug for the general population to be comfortable with. “Ansem felt we were one week away from protest groups chaining themselves to our doors. So we shut down the program and put our research on hold for the time being.”

“Huh. What are you doing now, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s similar work. For the past few years, my focus has been the onset of retrograde and anterograde amnesia.”

“Oh, that’s great. My grandmother actually had that—uh, anterograde, I mean. There weren’t really any treatment options, though. Guess they didn’t know as much about it back then.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. But yes, it’s a fascinating subject,” Even went on, somehow blending the personal and impersonal without doing a disservice to either. He delved into his research methods and the recent case studies he’d been keeping up with. Halfway through the conversation, Ienzo zoned out, no doubt already overly familiar with this topic. But it was an engaging one for Aeleus, even if most of the technical details went over his head. Even didn’t dumb anything down for him, but he spoke with such clarity and passion for his work that Aeleus had little trouble keeping up. As daunting as Even’s personality could seem, he proved himself to be a natural teacher, and Aeleus had always been a natural listener.

Around eleven o’ clock, Even took notice of Ienzo’s tired eyes and decided it was time to turn in. After ensuring that Aeleus had everything he needed, he left his son to show their guest to his room and wished them both a good night.

Ienzo yawned his way through an unnecessarily detailed tour of the room, pointing out the thermostat by the door and giving a demonstration on how to adjust it. “Thanks, Ienzo. I might’ve used one of these before,” Aeleus said. He let Ienzo verbally trudge through a quick tour of the bathroom before he made an executive decision to let the kid off the hook.

“I think I can manage from here,” he said, gently herding Ienzo back to the door. “Thanks for the help. And thanks again for inviting me over. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Ienzo said, his weariness doing wonders for melting away any lingering awkwardness. “Glad to have you. Sleep well.”

“G’night, Ienzo.”

* * *

Aeleus slept in the next morning, which was too enjoyable for him to worry about inconveniencing his hosts. He wandered out of his room and toward the kitchen, passing an open door that he couldn’t remember from the previous night. He glanced inside automatically, seeing a bookshelf, a computer, and what he assumed was a desk, though it was absolutely blanketed in papers.

He glanced down the hallway just as Ienzo appeared at the end of it. “Morning,” he said, giving the kid a quick wave.

“Hey,” Ienzo replied, making his way down the hall to meet Aeleus. “Sleep well?”

“Very. It’s surprisingly quiet here.” He turned his head, trying to listen harder. “Is your father home?”

“He’s out running errands.”

“…on Black Friday?” Ienzo nodded with a smile. “He’s a brave man.”

“Oh, he does this every year. I’ve given up trying to remind him.”

“A little ironic, for someone whose work is centered around treating amnesia.”

Ienzo snorted, and they lingered outside the room until he reached out and nudged the door open a little more. “It’s not a private room or anything,” he said. “It’s just my father’s office. You can go in. Just don’t touch anything. He has a system.”

Aeleus stepped inside, studying the tiny graveyard of teacups by the computer, the spillage from the printer tray, the shelves with books stacked both vertically and horizontally and loose papers sticking out from between them. “I can see that,” he replied, only half sarcastic. He scoped out the shelves and walls while Ienzo stood just inside the entrance like a tour guide, waiting patiently to field any of his questions. Aeleus pointed at a series of framed certificates on one of the shelves. “_Three_ PhDs?”

“Yeah, I still don’t know how he did it. He was already working on the third one before he even adopted me.”

“Wow.” Aeleus continued to look around, almost as impressed by the disorganization as he was by the degrees. The only things that were neat and tidy were the writing utensils: a collection of pens and pencils and highlighters gathered in a lopsided, yellow ceramic cup. It was obviously handmade and totally at odds with the rest of the decor, but Aeleus could guess where it had come from, and therefore why it was kept.

“I have to say, I’m a little surprised your father is so messy, especially in his work space. He struck me as more of the laser-focused, OCD type.”

“Oh, he’s a total Type A, for sure. He doesn’t have OCD, though. Not to my knowledge, anyway. But he does have these, like…”

“…compulsions?”

Ienzo shook his head vaguely, still looking for the word. “I guess ‘habits’ is how I’ve always thought of them. I mean, you saw last night. The glass-rinsing. And sometimes he’ll just touch things, or rearrange them. It’s too methodical and not productive enough to count as stress cleaning. I don’t know if he even knows he’s doing it. He’ll mutter to himself like he’s thinking out loud, and he’ll go around the kitchen opening cabinets and _slightly_ rearranging everything inside them.”

“Well…I won’t lie. That’s a little strange.”

“I know. It’s wicked annoying when I’m trying to do homework and he’s talking to himself and moving every can in the kitchen around.” Ienzo shrugged. “I kind of like it, though. I mean, kids at school used to make fun of it, but it always seemed nice to me. Just a consistent little thing my father did.”

Aeleus nodded, sensing that Ienzo was getting into a strangely reminiscent mood. Whatever persona he held up at Higanbana wasn’t present now. “I asked my grandfather once—Ansem, my father’s employer. He’s known my father forever, and he said he always had that habit, but that he started doing it more once he adopted me. Or started doing it differently, I guess. He noticed my father would start touching or rearranging my stuff, or things related to me. Like if I had a problem at school or I caught a stomach bug or something.”

“Sounds almost superstitious.”

“I know. It’s weird.” Ienzo touched a few items on his father’s shelf, in such a similar way to what he was describing that Aeleus was almost tempted to point it out. “When I was really little, just after I’d started talking, he used to put his hand on top of my head.” Ienzo demonstrated on himself briefly. “Just for a few seconds, resting it there while he muttered. Sometimes it was as simple as his to-do list for the day. I thought it was kind of funny at the time. I guess it was probably part of that same habit.”

Aeleus nodded, though Ienzo wasn’t looking at him anymore. He let Ienzo complete the row of books, touching the corner of each spine before he dropped his hand, wiping the minimal amount of dust off on his jeans. After a few moments of silent reflection, Aeleus asked if Ienzo minded him helping himself to the kitchen. Ienzo glanced up at him again and then stood away from the door, gesturing for Aeleus to go through it, inviting him out to the kitchen and offering to make their breakfast.

* * *

When the weekend arrived, Aeleus and the Nozawas had grown remarkably at ease in each other’s company. Aeleus had worried about the force of their combined social awkwardness, but Ienzo and his father were more gracious hosts than he would have guessed. They attended to his every need and were always around to find some way to keep him entertained.

It was a little exhausting. Aeleus had never thought of himself as an antisocial or unfriendly person, but he didn’t realize how much alone time he needed until he’d gone a few days without it. His manners and his fear of being a bad guest—especially when his hosts were going above and beyond in their roles—kept him from speaking up at first. But on Saturday afternoon, he finally said to both Nozawas, “Hey, um…I hope this doesn’t sound rude. But I’d usually have some decompression time during the day, just to sit by myself and read a book or something…”

He trailed off when he saw the subtle but unmistakable look of relief on both their faces. “Of course,” Even said while Ienzo actually sighed. “Of course. Please, take as much time as you want. Feel free to make use of the family room and the kitchen. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”

Aeleus nodded, and once Even’s back was turned, Ienzo pressed his palms together and mouthed _thank you_ before going upstairs, presumably for a much-needed nap.

By the evening, all three of them were recharged and refreshed, ready to spend more time in each other’s company, and by Sunday, they were sitting around and talking like old friends. Unfortunately for Ienzo, this resulted in Even sharing embarrassing family stories and Aeleus feeling bold enough to share a few stories of his own from the club.

“We didn’t know what he was doing there at first,” Aeleus said, while Ienzo sat on an end of the couch with his legs and arms crossed, suddenly wondering why he had bothered to invite Aeleus over at all. “He was literally our least troublesome patron. And yet, we all got the feeling he was some kind of prankster about to turn the place upside down.”

“Oh, _believe_ me,” Even said, putting his cup of tea on the table as if the mere telling of this story demanded the use of both hands. “You were right on the money. This young man has been putting me through an obstacle course of pranks and hijinks and _schemes_ for the past eleven years without pause. You know, when he was a boy, he locked me out of the house. On _purpose_. And not just the front door. He made sure every entry point was latched or bolted or _sealed_ shut.”

“Oh, man. What’d you do?”

“I panicked, of course. He was seven at the time. The thought of how easily he could get into some kind of household accident was at the forefront of my mind. That is, until I went to the window—” He pointed across the room at the exact window, leading out to the front yard. “—and knocked on it to alert him to the problem. He was sitting right on the couch—_right_ where he is now!—watching television and utterly ignoring me. And I _knew_ he could hear me. I tested the entire perimeter, trying to find some small window that he might have forgotten about.”

Aeleus was almost laughing too hard to ask, “How did you get in?”

“Oh, the _neighbors_ helped with that,” Even said scathingly. “They called the _police_ on me. There I was, being questioned on my front lawn about why I was trying to break into my own home. I had to stand there surrounded by a gaggle of nosy onlookers, none of whom I knew, and explain that I _did_, in fact, live here, and that the young boy inside _did_, in fact, know who I was, and that if I _were_ trying to break into someone’s house after dark, would a full-length white _lab coat_ really be the most prudent choice of clothing?”

“You know, if you bothered to get to know the neighbors at any point in your life, they wouldn’t have called the cops on you,” Ienzo said while Aeleus wiped away tears of laughter. Even huffed, refusing to surrender any of his moral high ground to his son’s logic and reasoning. He turned the conversation back over to Aeleus, asking if he had any comparable stories he’d like to share.

“Thankfully not,” Aeleus said, still getting the laughter out of his system. “You’ll be pleased to know he more or less behaves himself. He doesn’t barrage us with pranks so much as sarcastic comments.”

“Well, _there’s_ a refreshing change of pace,” Even said, leveling a sarcastic comment of his own at his son, who shrugged innocently. They shared a few more stories, moving away from Ienzo’s mischief-making and on to more mutually distressing situations. The infamous Chinese finger trap incident stole the show and put Aeleus in hysterics again, especially at the descriptions of Ienzo’s silent panic and Even’s growing confusion.

“It was a harrowing experience, especially for Ienzo’s first night here,” Even admitted, while Ienzo shook his head, apparently reliving the childhood panic that was seared into his brain. “But, to be fair, it _was_ a learning experience, of which I’m generally in favor.”

Ienzo claimed that the only thing he learned was not to expect his father to be able to solve a children’s puzzle, and as Even snarked back at him, Aeleus chuckled. Their stories and bickering were amusing, but there was a heartwarming element to them as well. After spending four days with the man, Aeleus had come to realize that for all Even’s eccentricities, he had a type of earnestness that was rare and somehow admirable. While so much of his storytelling was comedy gold, he never seemed to say anything for pure entertainment. There was substance to it all, as if he truly believed and stood behind everything he said, even in sarcastic or passing remarks.

It was a nice shift for Aeleus. He liked his coworkers, but their endless back-and-forth of insults and banter could be difficult to keep up with as a listener, never mind as a participant. There was a duality there that Aeleus felt he lacked. While he had thoughts that he kept private, he rarely spoke or acted counter to them. He was content enough to leave his coworkers to it, but sometimes he thought it would be a relief to converse with someone who was more his speed.

He wouldn’t have guessed that person would end up being Ienzo’s father, but it seemed that on his own turf, with the whereabouts of his son firmly established, Even Nozawa was perfectly capable of relaxing and having a pleasant, relatively normal conversation. And no matter how erratic or incomprehensible some of his behaviors may have seemed, Aeleus got the sense that there was no duplicity to him whatsoever. He was an artless man, in every definition of the word.

“Hey, Dad,” Ienzo was saying. “Tell him about the tennis ball heist back when I was in grade school. Did we ever find out what happened with that?”

“Ienzo, I _swear_—” Even began, somehow both warning his son to drop the subject and never pick it up again while also sounding as if he were about to recount the entire tale. Aeleus took a sip of his tea and got comfortable, ready and eager to learn more about this bizarre family as they drew another curtain back and invited him to share a look into their past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Even more than life itself.


	5. This Merits Further Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me, just tying up a loose thread from fifty-three chapters ago, because that's how I write stories apparently.
> 
> Characters: Dilan, Aeleus, Ienzo, and Braig.

It was always nice to come to work the Monday after Thanksgiving. The club was closed until nine, the Christmas decorations were taken care of, and Isa wouldn’t show up until five p.m. at the earliest. He and Lea always extended their vacation as long as possible; the rest of the crew assumed Isa used the extra time off to hibernate. Either way, it was nice to get things done without him constantly trying to keep everyone on track, regardless of whether they actually needed supervision.

Braig and Aeleus had been at work for about an hour before Dilan arrived. “‘Ey, there he is,” Braig said. “Welcome back. How’s the old homestead?”

Dilan put his bag on a chair, unable to even acknowledge Braig until he had fully returned to work mode. But when Aeleus asked, “Hey, did you have a good Thanksgiving? How’s your family?” Dilan was happy to share.

“They’re doing well,” he said, sounding tired but content. “I can’t believe how much my youngest sisters have grown. I know I say that every time, but still.”

“How was the weather? Did you get out to the trails?”

“It was nice. We hit the trails on foot, though. The horses that used to carry me are getting up there in years. Thought it best to leave them be.”

Aeleus nodded, and a brief, self-reflective silence fell over them until Dilan finally mustered the strength to look at Braig. “And because I _know_ you’re going to demand that I ask you eventually: how was your Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, Dilan,” Braig said with a canny laugh. “You don’t even want to know.”

Dilan had no dispute with that. “And how was _your_ Thanksgiving?” he asked as he helped Aeleus finish setting up the chairs.

“It was nice,” Aeleus said, which was exactly what Dilan expected to hear.

“Good,” he said, picking up his bag to go put it in the break room.

“Yeah. I actually spent it with the Nozawas.”

“Uh…huh,” Dilan said, putting his bag down again and staring at Aeleus. “…sorry. What?”

“I spent it with the Nozawas—Ienzo and his father. At their house.”

“At their _house_?”

“Yeah. Ienzo invited me.”

“When?”

“The night before. It was sort of last-minute, to be fair,” Aeleus added, noticing Dilan glance in Braig’s direction.

“…so…” Dilan looked at Aeleus again. “…how was it?”

“It was nice,” Aeleus said. “Not really a typical Thanksgiving dinner. It was all traditional Japanese fare.”

“Well…that makes sense,” Dilan said, feeling as if he should pretend at least something about this was normal, if only for his friend’s sake. “The food was good?”

“Yeah. Turns out Ienzo’s a pretty decent chef. We made some vegetarian sushi on Friday, too. Not really my thing, but it wasn’t bad.”

“You…went back the next day?”

“No—well, they invited me to stay as their house guest for the weekend. It was low-key, you know? They don’t really…” He faltered when he realized not only that Dilan was borderline gaping at him, but that Braig had calmly put down his cleaning rag and walked all the way around the counter and across the room, just to join Dilan at his side, matching his blank expression perfectly. “Um…they don’t really entertain much. I’m sure no one’s surprised to hear that. But they have a nice guest room, and a, uh…what’s it called…a _kotatsu_, I think…” He looked from Dilan to Braig and back to Dilan, unnerved by their mutually judgmental stares. “All right. What?”

“What do you mean _what_?” Dilan asked. “You spent the _weekend_ there? At the Nozawas’ _house_?”

“It’s not like it was totally unprecedented. I’ve been driving Ienzo around for about half a year now.”

“Didn’t go in the basement, did ya? And if so, please describe any lab equipment or experiments you may have found. Been dyin’ to know if the pipsqueak’s home life is as freaky as I imagined.”

“It’s a remarkably normal house, Braig. I mean, yes, obviously Ienzo and Even take some getting used to, but we’ve known the former—”

“_Even_,” Braig said, shoving Dilan’s arm in disbelief. “They’re on a _first-name basis_.”

Aeleus tried to share a beleaguered look with Dilan, but the look he got in return was uncomfortable and apologetic. “I mean…yeah,” he reluctantly agreed. “That’s a little weird.”

“I was staying at his house. Was I supposed to address him as ‘Dr. Nozawa’ all weekend?”

“Just sayin’. It took us _months_ to get used to the twerp, and you’re telling us, after _one weekend,_ you and his dad—who was out for blood last time we saw him, by the way—are all buddy-buddy? Cozying up under a heated blanket?”

“_What_,” Dilan said.

“That’s what a _kotatsu_ is!” Braig said, delighted that he could make the whole situation even weirder for his coworker. “Just about the cuddliest way to keep warm.”

“It’s a piece of furniture,” Aeleus insisted while Dilan stared at him as if he didn’t even know who he was anymore. “All I did was spend a few days there as a guest, and you’re trying to make it out like…what, like he’s interested in me or something?”

Dilan’s and Braig’s faces went slack at the exact same time, both of them taken aback in perfect unison. “What?” Dilan said, stunned. “No. Of course not.”

“Wait, do _you_ think he is?”

“_No_, Braig,” Aeleus said wearily.

“But you said it!”

“You were implying it!”

“No we weren’t!” Dilan replied, shocking himself both by speaking for Braig and by acknowledging that they were on the same page to begin with. Aeleus wished someone were at least standing next to him to balance things out. He sighed, tired of defending himself and realizing now that there was no point, anyway.

“All right. Well. My mistake,” he said, trying not to sound like he was grumbling about it. “Forget I said anything.” Braig looked up at Dilan, eager for another round of disbelieving questions and comments, but Dilan gave him a nudge that sent him stumbling toward the bar. Braig scoffed and straightened out his shirt, but he raised his hands in temporary obedience and went back to work, with more than enough material to keep himself entertained for the afternoon.

Dilan watched him to make sure he was done, then glanced at Aeleus, who had a look on his face like he was unjustly accepting responsibility for making their conversation awkward. “Look…sorry,” Dilan said, scratching the back of his neck. “I just got back, and I was surprised to hear about…all of that. I didn’t mean to make it weird or anything.”

“It’s all right.”

“I’m glad you had a nice time,” Dilan said as he picked his bag up again, clearly trying to force their interaction to end on a more positive note, but also sounding like he truly meant it.

“Thanks. Me too.” Dilan nodded and headed off to the break room, and Aeleus took down the last few chairs before getting to work on the stage.

* * *

Aeleus was on a much more convoluted train of thought than he was used to when Ienzo arrived at Higanbana, having come straight from school. “Dad says hi,” he said, setting his messenger bag down at his usual table. “And he wanted me to thank you _again_ for fixing the sink.”

“Oh, yeah. No problem,” Aeleus said, trying to ignore Braig and Dilan as they exchanged looks that were somehow both questioning and knowing. With a shake of his head, both at the subject of their speculation and at himself for participating in it, Dilan decided now was a good time for his break and headed to the back of the club.

Ienzo took a seat, studying Aeleus carefully. “What’s up?” he asked. “You’re still giving me a lift home tonight, right? I can take the trolley if I have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I can drive you.” Ienzo nodded and took out one of his textbooks. Aeleus ignored Braig on the surface but kept him in his peripheral vision, waiting for him to go to the back as well. When he finally left a few minutes later, Aeleus sighed, and Ienzo, as if he’d been waiting for that, put his book down on the table with a pointed stare.

“All right. What.”

Aeleus shook his head, mostly at himself. “It’s stupid.”

“Okay.”

“No, it’s…_really_ stupid.”

“Good,” Ienzo said as he closed his book. “I’m excellent at solving stupid problems. What is it?”

Aeleus looked at Ienzo, then looked away, knowing there was no way he’d be able to say any of this directly to his face. “I need to ask you something. Well, I don’t _need_ to. But I guess I feel like I should.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Here it goes.”

“Oh, that’s a _great_ start.”

“So, this weekend was nice,” Aeleus said, ignoring Ienzo’s sarcasm but oddly appreciating it. “And thanks again for inviting me over. It was very generous. The thing is…I was just wondering. I mean, about your father.”

Ienzo nodded, absolutely blank, clearly having no idea what kind of psychological burden Aeleus was about to place on his skinny shoulders. “Has he…I mean, since you’ve known him—since he’s _been_ your father, have you ever known him to…” Ienzo gave Aeleus the “what the fuck” shrug, and Aeleus sighed. “Has your father ever been in a relationship before?”

“…what, like…with a person?”

“_Yes_, Ienzo. With a _person_.” Aeleus rubbed his face, starting to reconsider his claim that the Nozawas were, overall, fairly normal people. It was terribly easy to forget how bizarre they were after spending some time on their turf.

“No,” Ienzo said, as if Aeleus were the strange one. “Of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not?’”

“Are you joking? You’ve met him. You just spent four days with him.”

“Well…yeah. That’s kind of why…I asked.” Ienzo stared, less blankly than before, and Aeleus fidgeted under his scrutiny.

“You think my dad’s _gay_?”

“No, I’m asking you.”

“Why would…how can you even _say_ that to me? That’s my _father_. What is _wrong_ with you?”

“What are you talking about? _You’re_ gay. Aside from Dilan, everything about this _club_ is—”

“Stop. Shut up. Stop talking,” Ienzo said, apparently dismayed enough to forego manners entirely. Aeleus tried to give him a moment to gather his thoughts, but the kid’s dead-eyed staring at the far wall started to concern him.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that you invited me over, and I ended up spending the weekend…look, let’s just drop it.” But Ienzo was staring at Aeleus again, more revelations unfolding in his overactive brain.

“Oh my god. That’s why you’re asking. You think…what, that I was trying to set you up or something?”

“No. I mean, I _didn’t_ think that. But when I told Dilan and Braig about it, they started saying—”

“_Oh_, well, if Dilan and _Braig_ said it,” Ienzo replied, waving his hand dismissively as if that settled the matter. Aeleus chose not to draw attention to how much the boy had resembled his father in that moment. Besides, he made a valid point.

“Okay. Fair enough.”

“I mean, look at how I’m handling this news, Aeleus—not even _news_. Just the _possibility_ of my father—like—” Ienzo roughed up his hair a little, as if he were trying to shake something loose. “This is _clearly_ more than enough for me to grapple with right now, and you think that on top of this, I’m trying to play matchmaker? Why on _earth_ would I have been trying to set him up with you?”

“_Okay_,” Aeleus repeated. “Point taken. Sorry for bringing it up.”

Ienzo took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he let it out. “That…may have sounded more aggressive than I intended.”

“It might’ve, yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

They sat for a while in silence, and Ienzo tried to figure out what part of their dynamic had changed. Aeleus’s tone was level, but he wasn’t his usual grounding self. Something had shifted and opened up a fault line in his otherwise bedrock foundation. “Is there, uh…something else?” Ienzo asked. “You seem pretty bothered by this.”

“Really. _I _seem bothered by this?” Aeleus asked, his tone flat as a mesa. But Ienzo gave him a flat look right back, and he sighed. “I dunno. Those two put this thought in my head, and it’s just…bringing up some other stuff, I guess.”

Ienzo nudged his book a few inches across the tabletop, then slid it back into place. It was through significant and obvious effort that he made himself say, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Aeleus hesitated. “Not…really?” he said. “I mean, thanks. But I don’t think that’d be appropriate.”

“I’ll be eighteen in a month, Aeleus. If it could be featured in an R-rated movie, then I can hear about it.”

Aeleus assessed him for a moment. “…you’ve never seen an R-rated movie in your life.” He rested his elbows on the table, knitting his fingers together and bracing his forehead against them. “I don’t mean, like, _inappropriate_ inappropriate,” he said, pressing his thumbs to the corners of his eyes. “I mean…emotionally inappropriate. I don’t want to dump this kind of thing on you. You’re not my therapist.”

Ienzo drew his eyebrows together, half sympathetic and half indignant. “No,” he agreed, “I’m your friend.” Aeleus lowered his hands to look at him. “Don’t get me wrong. This is weird to _think_ about, let alone talk about. But if you do want to talk…I’ll try not to freak out anymore. Honestly, I’d rather you talk to me about this than Dilan or Braig.”

Aeleus snorted. He squeezed his knuckles before letting go of his hands again. “All right. Well…it was very nice to spend time with you and your father. I mean, he’s an oddball; no one’s contesting that.” Ienzo smiled a little. “But you get the sense—well, _I _got the sense, talking to him, that he doesn’t entertain discussions he doesn’t want to have. So when he sat there, listening and engaging, it felt like he was truly interested in the conversation. You know, valuing someone for their company, rather than the role they play or their utility as a person.”

“…yeah?” Ienzo said. “That’s pretty much how he is.”

Aeleus crossed his arms with a shrug. “It’s refreshing. And it’s something I don’t always feel like I get elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like here. I mean…” Aeleus glanced at the back door as if he expected it to open at any second, though neither of them had heard so much as a footstep. “You know. Dilan and I are a team, but he usually gets the important jobs. I’m only the first choice when he’s unavailable, or when they need someone especially tall. I don’t take it personally, but that’s how it is. Or even back when you first started coming here. Why did you talk to me so much, before anyone else?” He paused as if he were giving Ienzo a chance to answer, though the question was clearly rhetorical. “Because I was the one who offered to drive you home. And I was pretty much the only person here quieter than you were.”

Ienzo looked like he was thinking about saying something, but he held off. Aeleus drew deeper into his contemplation, brow furrowing slightly. “You know…even back in college. Whenever I introduced someone to my family and friends, they’d always say how lucky I was to have found such a great guy. No one was ever told they were lucky to have found me.” He shrugged again. “I know they didn’t mean anything by it. It was just their way of saying they were happy for me. But there it is, I guess.”

He sighed, uncrossing his arms, though he didn’t know what else to do with them. He was so wrapped up in his recently unearthed thoughts and concerns that he almost missed it when Ienzo muttered something under his breath. “Hmm?”

Ienzo glanced at him, then looked away again. “We are,” he repeated, still muttering. “Everyone’s lucky you’re here, Aeleus. I’m pretty sure this place would be a mental asylum by now if it weren’t for you. And, like…” He didn’t look at Aeleus again, but he could feel the man watching him. “I’m sorry for acting so over-the-top about this. I didn’t mean to imply…I dunno. But is it so surprising that I’d be weirded out by it? You’re basically family at this point.”

“…really?”

“Yeah. It’s not _that_ strange, is it?” Ienzo asked, sounding suddenly unsure. “My father isn’t my biological father. My grandfather isn’t my biological grandfather. I mean, geez, my grandfather isn’t even my father’s father. No one related to me is actually related to me, _or_ to each other. It makes sense for me to think of you as, like, an uncle or something.”

“An uncle?”

“Yeah, whatever. I don’t know. Maybe not an uncle.”

“But you said an uncle.” Aeleus tried to meet Ienzo’s gaze despite the fact that the kid was now stubbornly looking straight ahead. “Wait, do you see _all_ of us that way? Is Braig your shady uncle with crazy life stories? Is Demyx like an older cousin?”

Ienzo didn’t have time to think of a snarky reply before the back door finally swung open, and Aeleus nudged his arm. “Ienzo, look. It’s your Uncle Dilan.”

“Shut _up_,” Ienzo said while Dilan carried a box of napkins to the bar. He gave the pair a questioning look as he made his way to the back again, but ultimately, he let the comment slide off him, not wanting to get entangled in whatever discussion was already causing Ienzo palpable embarrassment. He did, however, seem relieved to see Aeleus in a considerably better mood than before.

Aeleus leaned back in his chair, smiling a little. “Well, all teasing aside, I guess that does explain a lot. The idea of your father and your uncle together must be distressing.” Ienzo nodded, still preoccupied, and Aeleus tried to return to an earlier point in the conversation. “Are you really this upset at the possibility of your father being gay?”

“I’m upset that it never occurred to me before. Now the thought’s in my head, and I can’t get it out.” He glanced at Aeleus hesitantly. “I have to ask…_do_ you—”

“_No_, Ienzo,” Aeleus said firmly, though the expression that followed was far too conflicted to match his tone. “I mean…no. I don’t know.” Ienzo stared, and Aeleus sighed. “You’ve seen _Inception_, right?”

“I don’t live under a rock.”

“Well, the thought’s in my head, now, too. But I don’t know if it’s just because we’ve been talking about it, or if it was there to begin with.” He rested his head on his hand as if the thought itself were weighing him down, and Ienzo resisted the urge to do the same, thinking the situation was absurd enough without both of them looking like identical emotional wrecks.

“It’s okay,” he said wearily. “But not knowing any of this for sure is really going to bother me.”

“You could always just…talk to your father about it.”

“Thanks, Aeleus. I’d literally rather die.” Ienzo scratched at his hair again, trying to sweep some of it out of his eyes. “I don’t want to have to _talk_ about it. I just want to _know_.”

“Well, you’re a smart kid. You can figure out a way.”

“_How_?”

The back door swung open again, and this time it was Braig’s familiar but still abrasive voice that greeted them. “You guys wanna wrap up the book club soon?” he asked, carefully lowering a crate from his shoulder and placing it on the floor. “Could use an extra pair of hands back there, Lurch. Asked Dilan if I could borrow his for a hot second, and for _some_ reason he shot me down.” He shrugged and went to the back again for more supplies, as usual not relying on Aeleus to help carry the conversation in any way.

As soon as the door closed, Aeleus glanced at Ienzo and saw that the kid was already staring at him. “No,” he said. “Ienzo, _no_. I’m serious. I’d rather just help you figure this out myself, as awkward as it’ll be.”

“Aeleus,” Ienzo began, speaking slowly as if to avoid startling him with what he was about to say. “You have the patience of a saint. And I appreciate that. It’s a great quality. But it’s not going to get us any results.” He nodded to the back door. “We need someone with the patience of a sniper.”

Aeleus hated how terrifying that sounded, and hated even more than he couldn’t argue with it. “He might not agree to help,” he tried lamely, knowing that this was exactly the kind of inappropriate nonsense Braig lived for.

And Ienzo, full of bitter self-assurance, replied, “Oh, I think he will.”

They sat together in silence until Braig returned with another box, grumbling about the lack of help. Ienzo rose from his chair and waited for Aeleus to confirm that he was on board with this, and Aeleus gave him the most disapproving nod of approval he’d ever seen. With his calm and confident persona setting around him like a full-body cast, Ienzo made his way to the bar. Braig didn’t notice him until he was a few feet away, though he didn’t seem taken by surprise.

“Hey, Beaker,” he said as Ienzo took a seat on one of the bar stools. “What brings you my way?”

“I understand you heard about this weekend.”

“What, the notorious Dr. Nozawa entertaining employees of Radiant Garden’s most popular gay nightclub? Just a standard Thanksgiving, huh?”

“Well, we have a little mystery on our hands now, thanks to you and your speculating.”

“_My_ speculating,” Braig scoffed. “Dilan helped, too, y’know.”

“Well, I don’t think he can help with this. It isn’t really…Dilan’s area of expertise.”

Braig paused for just a moment before grabbing a rag to take care of the dust that had accumulated while he was gone. “Forgive me for being forthright, but what _exactly_ are we talking about here?”

Ienzo looked him in the eye, trying to maintain his composure, but all that did was create a few jarring seconds of silence before he blurted out, “We want you to find out if my dad’s gay.”

Braig stared at Ienzo, continuing to wipe the counter until his hand gradually slowed to a stop. He picked up the rag, folded it in half a few times, and put it over his shoulder. “All right.”

“…all right, as in…you’ll do it?” Ienzo asked, a little disturbed by the hopefulness in his voice. Braig rested both hands on the edge of the counter.

“All right, as in…all right. That’s quite the request.”

“To be clear, this shouldn’t require anything…drastic. All we want is confirmation.”

“Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talkin’ about? You and Aeleus? Don’t tell me the guy’s hoping to experiment with the mad scientist after all.”

“Okay, well, thanks anyway,” Ienzo said, swiveling all the way around and hopping off the bar stool. He only took a few steps before he heard Braig’s relenting laughter.

“Hey, hey. Get back here.” Ienzo reluctantly did so while Braig chuckled to himself. “Just givin’ you a hard time. Don’t worry about it—I’m in.”

“Yeah?”

“Believe me, you guys aren’t the only ones wondering about your humdinger of a father.”

“…seriously, what _decade_ are you from?”

“So, what’s our game plan? I know you said nothing drastic, but in my experience, a honeypot sting’s the fastest way to get results. And I could definitely hook you up with some bait,” he added, a smile spreading across his face like an oil slick. “Got the perfect guy.”

“First of all, keep your hook-ups to yourself. And secondly, I’m pretty sure Demyx would drop like one of those fainting goats if he ever saw my father again.”

Braig let out a quick but authentic laugh. “Shit. Dead on.” He shook his head almost fondly at the visual. “Well, your concerns are noted. Sounds like a job that calls for a little more…finesse?” Ienzo nodded. “Then I’m happy to help. Oughta be nice to put my private investigation experience to use.”

“What a fancy way to say ‘eavesdropping.’”

“You know, that was weak, but you seem like you’re having a rough day. I’m gonna give you that one.”

Ienzo sighed. “Well, I can see you’re enthusiastic about this. So just to reiterate: all we want is confirmation, one way or the other. Nothing more.”

“Kid, relax,” Braig said, picking up a glass and taking the rag off his shoulder. “I’m a professional.”

That phrase had never helped Ienzo relax, and especially not in this particular context. But he tried. “All right, well. We’ll talk more about this later, I guess.”

“Great. Lookin’ forward to it.”

Ienzo nodded and started to go, feeling a little nerve-frayed on the inside but keeping his cool and composed outer shell intact. He made it four steps before Braig’s whistle caught his attention, and when he turned around against his better judgment, Braig was beckoning him back to the bar. Ienzo began the short but slow return journey, berating himself the entire way, because of course this had been on Braig’s mind all along, and of course he had allowed Ienzo to walk away only to force him to come back, just so there was no mistaking this part of their conversation.

Ienzo stood between two bar stools, waiting for Braig to finish cleaning his glass. He took his time, polishing off every fingerprint before he set it down on the counter. He leaned forward on his elbow and lowered his head, almost meeting Ienzo on his own level. When he spoke, it was above a whisper, but Ienzo still had to strain his ears to hear him.

“Speaking of ‘Even’…that’s exactly what we are,” Braig said, gesturing between the two of them. “If I do this for you, then I owe you nothing. And whatever incriminating little tidbits you might _think_ you know about me, you can consider this an invitation to go ahead and keep ‘em to yourself. Forever. _Capisci_?”

Ienzo looked him in the eye for a second, then nodded silently. Braig nodded once in return, standing up straight again and dismissing Ienzo. He returned to his usual seat at his usual table, and Aeleus raised his eyebrows skeptically. “So…he’ll do it?”

“Yeah. Whatever ‘it’ is.”

Aeleus nodded, and they both sat quietly, reflecting on whether they could have lived without this knowledge after all, and if it was really worth getting Braig involved. When Ienzo offered an apology for how the holiday had turned out, unintended consequences and all, Aeleus waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. Look on the bright side, I guess.”

“…which is…?”

Aeleus shrugged. “At least you guys don’t celebrate Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Ienzo just amassing this collection of pseudo-uncles is both heartwarming and hilarious to me.


	6. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Vanitas, Xehanort, Naminé, and a super mysterious guest who hopefully isn't actually all that mysterious.
> 
> Content warning for Xehanort and his overall treatment of the teenager he's supposed to be caring for, but what else is new.

Vanitas’s eighteenth birthday had come and gone, but his grandfather’s lectures were gifts that kept on giving. Xehanort sat at the head of the dining table, dredging up the same tired subjects over the dinner that he insisted Vanitas attend. Vanitas sat a few chairs down and stared dully at his plate, pushing tiny discs of cooked carrots back and forth. When Xehanort’s monologue finally ran its course, Vanitas asked to be excused, and he was allowed to retreat to his room.

He didn’t bother to brush his teeth, turn off the lights, or even kick his shoes off before he flopped onto his bed. He wrapped himself up in the nearest blanket, and when he closed his eyes, he felt as if his head were sinking down through the mattress, escaping to someplace new and dark and interesting while his tired body lay where it fell. He only tensed up to pull the blanket tighter around himself, and then he unwound again within its folds, trying to fall asleep as soon as possible and hoping to stay that way for the next sixteen hours or so.

It wasn’t even ten minutes before Xehanort came knocking, and when Vanitas didn’t answer, his grandfather opened the door and called his name. Before Vanitas could pull the blanket over his head, Xehanort grabbed a corner and whipped it off him entirely.

“What the hell?” Vanitas said, forcing himself up to a seated but slouched position.

“You’re going to _sleep_?” Xehanort asked, dropping the blanket on the floor behind him, just out of reach. “It’s six p.m.”

“I’m _tired_.”

“We haven’t finished our discussion from dinner.”

Vanitas crossed his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, massaging his face with both hands. He should have known that the end of his grandfather’s diatribe wasn’t an end at all, just an intermission. He finally started to accept that they were never going to finish this discussion, because apparently the only goal was to make him feel worse, and Xehanort would always find a way to accomplish that. “Fine. What.”

“You know what. You’ve assured me for _months_ that you’ve been keeping up with your coursework, that you’ve been working _so_ hard in your academic life—”

“I _have_ been.”

“Then why isn’t our only remaining scholarship sitting in your hands? Why—with all the resources and opportunities at your disposal—did your alleged hard work fail to impress the board? Why is some little orphan with no advantages to speak of celebrating a victory that should have easily been yours?”

Vanitas shrugged, barely reacting to the mention of Ven, or the reminder that his classmate had outshone him yet again. “I dunno. Shit happens.”

“Watch it. I’m sick of your language and your attitude.”

“Well, what have _you_ been doing?” Vanitas asked, dropping his hands to look up at his grandfather. “You’ve been a professor here for, like, a thousand years. You know everyone on the board, and you still don’t have enough connections to fix this? My grades aren’t _that_ bad. If you stopped complaining about me and tried talking me up once in a while, maybe I would’ve gotten it.”

“I may seem strict with you, but that doesn’t mean I’m conspiring to ruin your chances at this university. How would that benefit me? You waste all of your time on frivolous hobbies, yet _I’m_ to blame for your failures? It’s _my_ fault you’ve fallen behind?”

“I’m not behind!” Vanitas said, tired of trying to explain that point but never willing to let it go. “The only reason you think I am is because you bumped me too far ahead! I’m exactly where I would’ve been if you hadn’t messed with my schedule in the first place and just let me finish high school normally like everyone else. But now you’re trying to make me feel like a loser for being where I should’ve been anyway. So, hey. Thanks for that.”

“I’m not making you feel anything,” Xehanort said stiffly while Vanitas got off his bed, unable to handle this argument sitting down. “And if you’re going to continue living under my roof, you’re going to remember how to show me more respect.”

“Well, maybe I won’t live under your roof anymore.”

“_Oh_,” Xehanort said, feigning shock. “You’re going to leave, just like that? And where do you think you’ll go? _Home_? Just go all the way back after how far you’ve come?”

“Make up your mind,” Vanitas snapped. “One second I’ve wasted all my time here, and the next I’ve ‘come so far?’”

“Make no mistake,” Xehanort said, his tone growing more serious, “a wasted life in Radiant Garden is better than any life where you come from. Just look at your parents if you want proof.”

Vanitas felt the spiky hair on the nape of his neck bristle. “What the hell’s wrong with them?” he asked, defending his parents from the same man he’d complained about them to on countless occasions. That was what he resented the most about his grandfather and yet what he always forgot until they were already steeped in a fight. His arguments were so twisted that Vanitas had to turn himself into a hypocrite just to stand a chance against them.

Xehanort’s sneer and accompanying response—“You don’t need _me_ to tell you what’s wrong with them.”—were just salt in the wound. Vanitas fumed, but he felt as if he were burning with radiation instead of fire. It gave him no life, no drive, only seared him with toxic light from the inside out.

“Well, sure,” he said as defiantly as he could. “Maybe I _will_ go back. I mean, if they’re such screw-ups, then maybe that’s where I belong after all.”

He went to the door with no idea where he’d go beyond that point. All he knew was that he had to get out of his room, and the only other escape route involved a jump from a third-story window. But when Xehanort said, “Good,” Vanitas stopped just before the threshold. He was no stranger to sarcasm, but he’d never heard such a positive word sound so hate-filled before, and he waited with morbid curiosity to hear what his grandfather would say to him next.

“Give up,” Xehanort went on, his voice like an iron file on granite. “Waste everything I’ve spent on you—all my time, all my money, all my efforts. Just give up and go crawling back, you degenerate little sand rat.”

For a few seconds, Vanitas stood there, staring at his grandfather with full attention. It wasn’t cold hate in Xehanort’s eyes now, but sheer, unhidden contempt. “You never should have left,” he said, looking Vanitas over as if he’d only just realized how disappointing the real, living person before him was. “Why bother? You were born in some filthy, anonymous hole in the desert, and that’s exactly where you’ll end up.”

All that was left for Vanitas to say was a clear, decisive, “Fuck you,” but he couldn’t even get those two syllables out without turning away. He left his room, and Xehanort stalked out after him, going down the hallway while Vanitas went down the stairs, each of them equally repulsed by and wanting nothing to do with the other.

* * *

It had stopped drizzling, but the front gates were trapped in a thin film of ice, and Vanitas almost slipped and fell more than once on his final climb over them. He landed unsafely but unharmed on the other side, shaking water from his hands as he started down the path.

He turned around again, gripped by the urge to do just one stupid, cathartic thing. He took his wire out of his pocket, needing a few tries to fold it with his stiff fingers. When he finally bent it into shape, he jammed it into the enormous lock on the gates and wiggled it around until he felt it pop. He took the lock in both hands and heaved, yanking it down, and the chains followed like reanimated limbs, jerking erratically on their path through the intricate ironwork.

He left them crumpled in a heap like snakeskin, then raised one foot and kicked the gates as hard as he could, dead in the center of the monogrammed X. Ice splintered and burst, scattering on the ground as if someone had put a cannonball through a stained glass window. The gates swung open, one creaking on a now loose hinge, the other completing its arc and crashing into the stone wall on the other side. Vanitas didn’t stay to enjoy the damage. He took off down the path, sandstorms and dust devils on his mind and gravel chanting under his feet with every step that took him away from his grandfather’s wretched house for good.

* * *

Mere minutes after Vanitas left, Xehanort returned to his room, sweeping through it and throwing everything that wasn’t furniture into a cardboard box. He scowled as he cleared the closet’s top shelf, lifting the trays full of photography equipment and dropping them into the garbage bin. He even picked up the blanket, which he’d owned long before Vanitas had arrived, and chucked it in as well.

He swiped the photos off Vanitas’s nightstand, letting them scatter in an undignified pile in the box. He set it on the floor so he could start purging the dresser next, but then he paused.

Xehanort sat on the edge of the bed, reaching deep into the box to regather the photos. He arranged them in a rough stack and began flipping through them, tossing the dreck back into the box without a second glance. When he finally found what he was looking for—confirming that he had actually seen what he thought he saw—he reached for his phone, glaring at the photo as he dialed. He only had a moment to seethe before the call was answered after one ring, like always.

“Yes?”

“My grandson is out. Gone. No longer a viable option.”

“That’s a shame,” the voice on the other end said, unhurried and darkly amused. “A family feud?”

“The reasons are none of your concern. But rest assured, we have other options. It may take more time, but he was _not_ our only choice. Nor even the ideal choice. The boy would’ve been more trouble than he’s worth—he could barely pass an introductory chemistry course.”

“You’re willing to forego family connections?”

“Someone with _no_ connections might be better in the end.”

“Indeed…”

Xehanort waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to say more. “There’s…a complication, however,” he added, trying not to crush the photograph in his grip. Even with its surface covered in creases and black scribbles, the elegant man in the picture was unmistakable. “Your distributor, here in town? My grandson seems to have taken notice of him.”

“Yes. A couple months ago, I believe—we discussed it on my last visit. My distributor took notice as well, if that’s of any reassurance.”

_It’s not_, Xehanort wanted to spit back at the man. Why did no one _inform_ him of these things? “Well, I don’t know why he caught my grandson’s attention. But needless to say, this could pose a problem. He said he was returning home, but there’s no telling what that boy will really do. The _impudence_ of him, that feckless child, he _never_—”

“Do you require my assistance with something?”

“I want to know whether he actually leaves town or not. Can you get in touch with your other contact tonight? Now?”

“I always can.”

“Will he be available?”

“He always is.”

“Then tell him to stake out the station for the night. Northbound trains—no, all outgoing trains. He can identify Vanitas, correct?”

“He has before.”

“Good. Call him immediately.” Xehanort snapped his phone shut and, after staring for one more furious moment, tore the photo in half and dropped it back in the box, adding it to the collection of relics to be forgotten.

* * *

Across town, Naminé slid her window open, despite the cold and the leftover rainwater dripping from the roof. She moved her plants to a safer location and then sat on the couch, gazing out at the dark streets. After a year of living on her own, the shine of being able to open her window whenever she wanted—or having a window to open at all—had yet to wear off. She took a deep breath, grounding herself in the temperature, the humidity level, the time of day, and the quiet sounds of the sidewalk below.

Her phone buzzed, and she was in such a meditative state that she couldn’t figure out where she’d left it at first. When it buzzed again, she got up to retrieve it from the kitchen counter. She wasn’t surprised to see who the messages were from, but she was surprised to have received them at all, though she’d been waiting for almost two months. She entered her six-digit passcode and scanned her pinky to see what he’d said.

_Hey, sorry, I know this is sudden but I’m going back home. I know I mentioned it a while back, but some stuff came up and I have to go. I’m heading out tonight_

Naminé stared at the text, only her eyes moving as she read it over and over until it sank in. Carefully, she scrolled to the following text to see if it would clarify anything.

_Not sure when I’ll be coming back. Sorry again._

She stared at her phone until the screen went black, then unlocked it again, hoping that the messages would have magically changed while she wasn’t looking. When it was clear that they hadn’t, and wouldn’t, she sent the only reply she could think of.

_All right. Have a safe trip_.

She studied her text, as incomprehensible to her as Vanitas’s even though it was written by her own hand. For a long time, she stood in the middle of her apartment, between the kitchen area and the living area. Neither was its own room, and without clear borders, she didn’t know where one ended and the other began. She lingered in that undefined space until the water stopped dripping from the roof, and then she crossed the room, closed the window, returned all her plants to their usual row on the sill, and went to bed.

* * *

Vanitas wandered through downtown Radiant Garden like a stray dog. He wished he were one; it would’ve made climbing down the slope to the riverside much easier. But he reached the bottom without incident and found a relatively dry spot under the bridge where he could sit. He knew he couldn’t stay there, promising himself that he’d find the strength to stand again and seek out a warm vent somewhere in town, one to sleep underneath or beside. But for now, he just needed to rest, and he needed a sentimental place to do it more than a tactical one.

He took his phone out, already breaking another promise to himself as he wasted some of its battery life to reread Naminé’s text. _All right. Have a safe trip_. He drew his hood up and held his phone in both hands to keep warm. As the river rushed by without going anywhere, Vanitas closed his eyes, repeating Naminé’s simple message over and over in his head until he could hear it in her voice, the only thing keeping him company in the lightless outskirts of town and the dreamless outskirts of sleep.


	7. It Might Say WINNER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: the Higanbana crew, plus Ienzo.

The process of unraveling Higanbana’s latest mystery had begun, and as expected, Even did not make it easy. If Ienzo possessed a natural gift for enacting schemes, then his father possessed a natural gift for foiling them. And while Braig was surely a professional information-gatherer, Dr. Nozawa was a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a lab coat. Eventually, Ienzo decided (with great reluctance from all involved) that the simplest way for Braig to get some face time with their mark was to have his father start picking him up from the club more often.

Whenever Even arrived, Braig managed to slip away from the bar for a few minutes to antagonize and flirt with him at the front door, to little success. It wasn’t that Braig had to overcome the man’s lingering hatred for him so much as the fact that Even seemed to have entirely forgotten who Braig was, regarding his innuendo-laden attempts at conversation with nothing but blank confusion and mild annoyance. It was an odd blow to Braig’s ego, to be ignored by a man who had once threatened him so specifically and insulted him with such accuracy. But Even barely acknowledged Isa and Dilan, too, so Braig tried not to take it personally. The only one Even truly responded to was Aeleus, whom he could now identify as both a family friend and a person with a face.

That alone was enough for Braig to conclude that Even was not only gay, but particularly gay for Aeleus. But Ienzo insisted that more concrete proof was needed.

So, on a Monday evening in early December, the Higanbana crew gathered on the main floor, racking their brains for a new approach—preferably one that kept Ienzo’s father away from the club but also prevented Braig from literally stalking him throughout the town. Lea and Isa had the night off, but they had come in for an hour at the latter’s insistence to make sure things were running smoothly. Lea sprawled on a couch in the lounge area while Isa checked in with Dilan, all three of them trying to ignore what was shaping up to be Higanbana’s next great and morally dubious escapade.

Braig had taken up residence on a bar stool, briefing Demyx on the situation while the latter mixed a drink for him and did some light cleaning behind the counter.

“Am I losing it?” Braig asked, laying his hands on his lap and studying his palms as if they held the answer to this midlife crisis. “Have I gotten complacent? Are all these college kids and beautiful young morons makin’ me lose my edge?”

“Well, fuck you, too,” Demyx muttered, though he handed Braig his Double Tap anyway.

“It’d be one thing if he just hated my guts,” Braig went on. “_That_, I was expecting. But to act like he didn’t even recognize me? How many guys in this town wear an eyepatch, for Christ’s sake?” He stared into his drink, grappling with the very real possibility that he might finally be past his prime. Demyx reached across the counter to give him a comforting but condescending pat on the head, then nudged Braig’s shoulder when Ienzo walked through the front door.

“Long time no see, dude,” Demyx called, getting a small wave from Ienzo. “Hey, I heard the news about your dad being gay. Congratulations!”

Ienzo dropped his arm and glared at Braig. “Hey, _idiota_,” Braig said, giving Demyx a light smack on the side of the head, which Demyx responded to by taking Braig’s drink back and pouring it down the drain. “I didn’t say he _was_ gay. I said we thought he _might be_ gay. And, uh, the jury’s still out,” he added to Ienzo, who ignored him as he joined Aeleus at their usual table. “Gotta take the blame when it’s due,” Braig went on, “I’m really droppin’ the ball on this one. Though if you pressed me for an opinion, I’d say it’s shaping up to look like your old man’s not gay after all.”

“Why?” Isa asked, breaking his own rule about not engaging in this particular discussion. “Because he’s shown no interest in _you_? All that proves is that he has standards.”

While Braig dutifully pretended to take offense, Dilan said, “You know, it’s possible you need a different approach altogether.” When the rest of the crew, plus Ienzo, looked his way, he shrugged. “Our working theory is that he’s gay, correct? It seems appropriate to go the scientific route and try to prove ourselves wrong instead of trying to prove ourselves right. What if you tried to get him together with a woman instead? If he’s interested, you’ll have your answer: not gay.”

Everyone silently mulled it over, trying to figure out if this approach would be more or less awkward than the one they currently had. “Well, that’s solid reasoning,” Braig admitted. “There’s just one hitch. Does anyone here _know_ any women?”

Everyone silently mulled this over as well. “I know quite a few lesbians,” Isa offered, perfectly happy to be of no help at all.

“Yeah,” Demyx said, “I’m pretty sure I know every woman in Radiant Garden, but that’s not exactly useful information here.”

“Psh, figures.” Braig glanced across the room at Lea. “Hey, copper top. Your mom’s single, right? She’s gotta be around the doc’s age. Think she’d be willing to take one for the team—so to speak?”

Ienzo looked ashen, having listened to this entire discussion with mild horror, but Lea didn’t even get up from the couch. “Listen,” he said calmly, “not to be That Guy, but I swear to god, if any of you go within a hundred feet of my mom, you will die by my hand.”

“Whoa,” Braig said, pointing at Lea but looking at Isa. “Hostile work environment. That’s a death threat, Blue.”

“I’ll allow it.”

Braig started to roll his eye, but Demyx gave him a little shove. “Yeah, man. Ms. Q is rad. Don’t even joke like that.”

“Ah, right,” Braig said, swiveling his stool halfway around to the counter. “Keep forgettin’ how far back you kids go.”

“Well, Isa and I knew each other since, like, kindergarten,” Demyx said. “But we didn’t turn into a trio until Lea came along. Even then, it took a couple years.”

“Maybe for you,” Lea replied. “Isa and I hit it off right away. Kismet,” he added, resting his chin in his hand and smiling at Isa, who ignored him.

“…so…?” Aeleus said to Lea, who spent a few more seconds staring at his husband before he seemed to notice he was being spoken to.

“Hmm? What?”

“Come on. How’d you two meet?”

“Oh,” Lea said with an easygoing laugh. “Well, Isa tells it best.”

“I don’t. And I won’t.”

Lea sighed. “All right. So, it was a hot August afternoon—”

“July.”

“Seriously?” Lea furrowed his brow. “Huh. Okay, July. Right, ‘cause we’d just moved here. So, I was eight years old, totally new in town. Didn’t know anything or anyone in Radiant Garden. Ma took me to the fountain court, and there was Isa, sitting all by himself and reading a book.”

“It was Central Square, Lea.”

“Nuh-uh,” Lea said, more confident this time. “I distinctly remember the fountains.”

“I was sitting at the fountain _in_ Central Square.” When Lea gave him a skeptical look, Isa sighed. “I went to Central Square to read a book,” he began, and Lea smiled as he leaned back against the couch. He’d learned years ago that the best way to get Isa to do what he wanted wasn’t through appeals to emotion, but by pretending to be wrong. It was only a matter of time before Isa succumbed to the urge to correct him.

“All I wanted was to have a nice, quiet afternoon. And without warning, this gangly, redheaded _weirdo_—” Lea grinned and pointed proudly at himself. “—is right in my face, closing my book, saying, ‘Hurry, hurry, we gotta go _now_ or we’re gonna miss it!’ I thought there was some kind of emergency. It turned out he just wanted me to help him win a trivia contest so he could go to Disney Town.”

“You are _totally_ misrepresenting this,” Lea said. “First of all, _I_ was the weirdo? Who goes outside on a beautiful summer day to read a _book_? Second of all, Disney Town day passes were a huge deal. And third, it was my birthday!”

“No it _wasn’t_.”

“Well, the week before. Anyway, we won, didn’t we?”

“We did. Thank goodness for being able to spell at a third-grade level.”

Lea chuckled, and Braig said, “Yeah, yeah. That was about as sappy as I imagined.”

“They have so many cute little stories,” Demyx said. “The real mayhem started when I joined the team. Like the bat incident.”

Lea burst out laughing, and Dilan glanced at Isa, who merely shook his head to himself. “What bat incident?”

“Oh, man—we were at my house for a movie night,” Lea said, still laughing at the memory. “Probably around ten or eleven years old. Anyway, somehow a fucking _bat_ got in the house. I thought it was just a really big moth at first, but once we realized what it was, shit went wild. Demyx was so scared he threw a chicken wing at it.”

While Braig snickered at the visual, Isa shot back, “Well, we couldn’t all be as dignified as you, jumping in the air and trying to subdue it with a throw pillow.”

“He was trying to show off for _you_,” Demyx said. “Acting all heroic and shit.”

“Well, the joke was on him. I was busy hiding in the kitchen.”

Demyx laughed, and while he and Lea relayed the rest of the story to their coworkers, embellishing and miming out their childhood antics when appropriate, Isa indulged in a more private reminiscence. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about Demyx throwing the chicken wing. Catherine had demanded to know why there was barbecue sauce on her ceiling when she got home, and to this day, Isa had no idea how she’d managed to ask the three of them that question with a straight face.

But he did remember Demyx following him into the kitchen and both of them pushing Lea back into the hallway when he tried to join them, insisting, “It’s after _you_.” It was a theory the bat proved correct when it spastically flapped its way into the kitchen and sent them all fleeing back to the family room. There had been something stress-inducing but heartwarming about panicking as a group. Remaining calm simply wasn’t an option; if one of them freaked out, then they all did. Isa remembered hiding behind the couch, the three of them huddled together for safety, but Isa specifically pressing up against Lea’s side a little more than he needed to in the cramped space.

He also remembered being extremely jealous that Demyx got to have sleepovers at Lea’s house, and then feeling guilty for being jealous. He remembered Catherine taking them out on beach days and letting him sit under the umbrella with her rather than join Lea and Demyx in the water. She ignored the book she’d brought and tried to get him to talk about which musical instrument he’d chosen to learn in school, or what movies he wanted to see that summer, or whatever he was willing to share.

He remembered Demyx showing him how to make friendship bracelets at summer camp. Isa had made one for him in pink and purple and green, which he still occasionally saw hanging from the neck of Demyx’s sitar. Isa had spent the rest of the afternoon making one in red and orange and yellow, and then spent the following day working up the nerve to hand it to Lea. When he finally did, Lea laughed, which made Isa’s heart sink all the way down to his feet, at least until Lea reached into his pocket and pulled out his own bracelet in blue and white.

He remembered himself and Lea saying they were like the moon and the sun, and Demyx asking what that made him, dejected at being left out. Lea and Isa had just looked at him, with his over-gelled hair and sparkling eyes and a toy synthesizer that he’d salvaged from a yard sale in his hands. “Dude,” Lea had said, with Isa already nodding in agreement beside him, “you’re a star.”

Isa remembered summer afternoons in Twilight Town, long after he and Lea had shared their awkward first kiss, but before they had officially started dating. Demyx had complained about allowing three people in one Struggle match, claiming that Lea and Isa were inevitably going to team up against him. But he’d bested them with his fearless battle cry of, “Your balls are mine!” which utterly incapacitated his opponents, Isa leaning on his bat and Lea leaning on Isa, both crying with laughter until the timer ran out and Demyx won by default. Recalling that memory now, over a decade later and at the tail end of autumn, Isa could still feel the hot brick sidewalk beneath his sneakers, and the ache in his side as he tried to catch his breath, and Lea’s forehead pressed against his bare and slightly sunburnt shoulder.

“—the rule again? Isa?”

“Hmm?” Isa glanced up and saw Demyx watching him from the bar, waiting for his reply. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The fast food place we worked at that one summer. What was the rule they had to come up with because of you?”

“Oh. No triple-wrapping the burgers.”

“Right!” Demyx laughed. “Man, you did _not_ want to be a belligerent customer with this guy serving you. No fucking mercy.”

“To be fair, they fired me shortly after instating that rule.”

“Um, no. They fired _us_. Thanks a lot, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

While Demyx stuck his tongue out at Isa, Ienzo said, “If it makes you feel any better, there are policies that exist at Radiant Garden High because of me.”

Isa, with no change in his expressionless face, laid a hand over his heart. “You? No.”

“Well, not on the record. But let’s just say the school didn’t install security cameras until after my freshman year.”

“Heh, bet you’ve already figured out how to hack those and shut ‘em down, huh?” Braig asked. Ienzo looked scandalized.

“I would never,” he insisted. “The day I can’t pull off a prank without avoiding the cameras is the day I deserve to get caught.”

Braig snorted, and even Isa smiled a bit. A comfortable silence descended as everyone went back to relaxing or completing minor chores, and Braig managed to persuade Demyx to make him another drink. After a few moments, Aeleus said, “So…did you guys end up going?” When Lea gave him a quizzical look, Aeleus clarified, “To Disney Town?”

Lea glanced at Isa, who sighed again. “I said I didn’t want to. He mentioned—inaccurately—that it was his birthday, so I told him to take both tickets and go with one of his friends. He told me he’d just moved to Radiant Garden that week and didn’t _have_ any friends yet, and then he said, and I quote: ‘Well, if you’re not goin’, I’m not goin’.’”

“…so you went?” Dilan asked.

“So we went,” Isa replied.

“What was your favorite ride?” Ienzo asked, fully prepared for Isa’s dry look and equally dry response of, “The shuttle bus home.”

“I rode the Blaster Blaze eight times in a row,” Lea said, sounding as if they’d just gone earlier that day. “And no offense to Radiant Garden, but the ice cream at Disney Town was out of this world. I think we sampled every flavor. Isa, what was that one? You know. The one?”

“Bueno Volcano.”

“Yes! That shit was the bomb. Only got Isa to try a few in the end, though. Mr. Boring here finds one thing he likes and sticks with it.”

“I liked Fabracadabra,” Isa said in his defense. “But the sea-salt bar is a classic for a reason. You shouldn’t need all that fanfare if the base flavor is good.”

While Lea shook his head, clearly not about to get into that argument again, Ienzo said, “That’s actually my father’s favorite flavor, too.”

“Really?” Isa asked, and when Ienzo nodded, everyone sat in silence, considering this new tidbit of information.

“…okay, I’m sorry,” Demyx began, “and maybe it’s just me, but I can’t picture your dad eating ice cream. Like, at all.”

“He had it all the time when I was a kid,” Ienzo said. “My grandfather used to take me out for lunch while my dad was at work, and about once a month we’d stop to get ice cream on the way back to the lab. We’d always pick up an extra for him. It was kind of a tradition.”

“Aww,” Demyx said with a smile. “That’s pretty cute, actually.” The others remained silent, but seemed to more or less agree. Only Aeleus looked puzzled.

“I thought your father was lactose intolerant,” he said, causing Dilan to glance at Braig, who was already adding an invisible tally mark under what was surely the “gay” column. Ienzo turned to Aeleus, equally puzzled.

“No?” he said with a little laugh, as if Aeleus had just said the sun revolved around the earth. “Why would you think that?”

“He mentioned it when I was over for Thanksgiving. I forget what we were talking about, but I definitely remember him saying…” He trailed off when he saw Ienzo’s face slowly drop, as if the boy were gripped by a life-changing revelation. His eyes unfocused, possibly reviewing every moment he could recall from his childhood to find even one instance of his father having a sip of milk or eating a piece of cheese, just to prove Aeleus wrong. “Um…are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” Ienzo said, frowning. “Why would you say something like that? Even if it were true?”

“Well, it _is_ true,” Aeleus replied, not knowing what else to say. “He told me himself.”

Ienzo shook his head while Braig laughed. “What, are you freaking out because of all the wasted ice cream, or because Aeleus knows something about your old man that you didn’t?”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“I dunno, dude,” Demyx said, shifting behind Braig when Ienzo looked his way, as if the bar itself didn’t provide adequate protection. “It’s just, you seem like you’re getting kinda…frazzled.”

“_No_, I do _not_ seem frazzled. I don’t _get_ frazzled,” Ienzo insisted with a very emphatic tone and very emphatic hand gestures to make his lack of frazzlement perfectly clear. He rose from his chair and started zipping up his bag. “I’m _not_ frazzled, and my father _can’t_ be lactose intolerant, and he isn’t _gay_. And even if he _were_, he wouldn’t set foot in this establishment except to retrieve _me_, because that’s just the kind of person he is. This is ludicrous. You all have nothing better to do than sit around and speculate about things that are completely absurd? It’s deplorable. I need to go home and finish my calculus.” And before Aeleus could offer to give him a lift, Ienzo turned on his heel and stormed out the door, concluding his sudden and mildly hysterical outburst in a way that gave no one a chance to intervene or respond.

Demyx waited until the door was shut before he said, “For real, though. It’s nuts how alike they are.”

“Yeah,” Braig said with a pondering sigh. “He really is his gay dad’s son.”

They all stuck around for a while longer, but with no work left to do and no desire to hear any more about the confounding plague on the Higanbana crew’s collective psyche that was Dr. Even Nozawa, Lea and Isa decided it was time to head out. Braig hopped off his bar stool and stretched, cracking his back a few times, but before he could go to the other side of the counter, his phone buzzed. “Whoop,” he said as he took it out of his pocket. “Before you go, Isa, make a note to dock me a personal day, would ya?”

“Fine,” Isa said. “Next time, try to give less notice.”

Braig grinned, but it dropped quickly when he felt a tug on his ponytail. “Dude,” Demyx said, letting go before Braig could smack his hand away. “You’re leaving?”

“Yep,” Braig said, grabbing his ponytail in his fist and shoving his hair tie back up it, making both Demyx and Isa wince. “My bad. Totally forgot I had a previous engagement.”

“Uh…_we_ had a previous engagement.”

“Whoa,” Dilan said, holding up his hand as if to put a physical stop to the conversation. “That was…very open.”

Braig shrugged, putting his phone away. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said to Demyx, who was borderline pouting because he knew he could get away with it. “Rain check?”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever you’ve got going on, it better be fucking important. Like some super secret spy shit.”

“You _wish_ I was that cool.”

“Hey, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll have time to meet up afterward,” Lea said, tossing Isa his coat and putting on his own. “Not like you can’t spare two minutes, right, Braig?”

“What’s that now?”

“I mean, no offense or anything. But according to Demyx, it’s like warp speed with you.”

“That so?” Braig said, glancing at Demyx, who shrugged. “Well, can’t argue, I guess. I deliver in twenty minutes or less, or else I’m free.” Lea stopped wrapping his scarf around his neck, looking a little sick as Braig went on. “Besides, the kid’s one to talk. He wants to spend _hours_ hanging out and listening to music, but when we actually get down to it? Jesus, you better not blink.”

“Are you _serious_?” Demyx asked. “You rush us along like your life depends on it, and _I’m_ too fast?”

“Faster than a speeding mullet.”

Despite Demyx’s indignation, that caught him off guard enough to laugh. Braig snapped his fingers a few times and gestured behind the counter, too lazy to walk around it, and Demyx cooperatively handed his jacket over. “So,” Braig said as he put it on, “think you can hold down the fort by yourself?”

“It’ll be ten times easier without you trying to banter with me all night.”

“That’s the attitude,” Braig said, taking his wallet out and sliding some munny into the tip jar. With a little salute to Demyx and a half-hearted wave to everyone else, Braig was out the door, and it wasn’t long before Lea was tugging on Isa’s arm and urging them to do the same.

* * *

Lea tried to rush to the car, but Isa insisted on stopping at a convenience store around the corner first, baffling Lea when he emerged with a sea-salt bar in hand. “_How_ can you eat that?” Lea asked, barely audible with his scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. “It’s cold as hell out.”

Isa tasted the ice cream, letting the flavor sit on his tongue as he thought it over. “You know, I’ve heard you refer to the weather as being both ‘hot as hell’ and ‘cold as hell.’ Exactly what temperature do you think hell is?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say hell’s in a continental climate.”

Isa tilted his head, satisfied with Lea’s reasoning as long as he’d thought it through. “Well, you got me thinking about ice cream, so I wanted some. It’s been a while.” He took a full bite this time, sinking his teeth straight into the frozen bar and grinning when Lea cringed like he always did.

Back when they were children, Isa had introduced Lea to his favorite aspects of Radiant Garden, sharing his home with Lea in the hopes that it would soon become his as well. Lea had tried the ice cream because he was a naturally curious child, and because Isa had asked him to. And even when Lea stuck his tongue out after the first bite, trying to evaporate the flavor off of it, he kept trying to force himself to like it, because seven-year-old Isa was on the edge of his seat, waiting to see if their favorite anything would overlap. Isa had looked disappointed when Lea finally grimaced and shook his head, though he had seemed to cheer up when Lea handed over the uneaten half for him to finish.

“What?” Isa asked, just as Lea realized he was spacing out. His face was still mostly wrapped up in his scarf, but his eyes showed his smile in warm green and laughter lines.

“Thinkin’ about when we first met.”

Isa took another bite of ice cream, thinking about it as well. He had been too young to be quite so far from the house without supervision that day, but he had been less nervous out in the open among strangers than he would’ve been at home. All he’d hoped for was a few hours of peace and solitude so he could read whatever adventure story he’d been into at the time. He couldn’t even remember which one it was now. He didn’t think he ever ended up finishing it, because a real adventure had landed at his feet that day. Some bright, excitable, freckled boy had run up to Isa as a complete stranger and, in the span of half a minute, pulled him to his feet and dragged him across Central Square as a friend.

“Still blows my mind sometimes,” Lea said. “I can’t believe you actually came to Disney Town with me. And everything after, honestly. I kept thinking, okay, that last one was a freebie, _this _time he’s gonna say no for _sure_. And you just kept saying yes.”

“You were very persuasive.” Lea looked pleased with himself, and Isa added, “It’s crazy to think about, though. How such small details changed the whole trajectory of our lives. That day wouldn’t even have happened if you hadn’t moved to Radiant Garden, or if there hadn’t been a trivia contest, or if I hadn’t been reading a book.”

Lea nodded slowly, but he gave Isa a confused look after a moment. “Wait. What?”

“If I hadn’t been reading, you wouldn’t have singled me out as the brainy kid and asked me to help you win the contest.” Lea stared. “…right?”

Lea took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking his head as he said, “Oh, _Isa_.”

“What?”

“Isa, Isa, Isa.”

“Stop it. What?”

“You wonderful, oblivious man. That’s not why I asked you.” It was Isa’s turn to stare, and Lea gave him as much of a disbelieving look as he could with his scarf in the way. “Are you kidding? I had a _crush_ on you. I thought you were cute.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are _you_?” Lea laughed. “That’s never clicked before?”

“No. Your original explanation made perfect sense. Why would I question it?”

“Uh, because I was as subtle as skywriting? I was super nervous to even talk to you, so I said I just picked you because you were reading and you looked smart. I figured once I finally told you I liked you, you’d be like, _oh_, of _course_—” Isa tried to keep walking, but Lea grabbed his shoulder with one hand and braced the other on his knee, almost doubled over as he tried to talk through his laughter. “It’s been…_twenty years_…and you never realized…oh my _god_.”

“It genuinely didn’t occur to me.”

“Isa, that’s _so_ funny. Holy shit.” Lea let go when Isa shrugged him off, using his scarf to dry his eyes as his laughter gradually died down.

“So, let me get this straight,” Isa said, pointing the popsicle stick at Lea as they continued down the sidewalk. “You’re telling me, after all this time, that I actually had you wrapped around my finger from day one?”

“_Yes_,” Lea said, both amused that Isa never realized it and delighted that he finally had. “But it’s too late now. That nervous, hyperactive little kid has become the cocky, hot mess of an adult you see before you.”

Isa shrugged as he finished his ice cream. “I’ll take it.” He tossed the stick into a trash can and then came to an abrupt halt when Lea, who had looked very self-satisfied a moment before, suddenly held his entire arm out in front of Isa.

“Whoa, hey,” he said, letting Isa push his arm down only to raise it again and point at the trash can. “What’d it say? Was it a WINNER?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t check.”

“And why the hell not?”

“I never do,” Isa said, sliding his hand to the small of Lea’s back. “I don’t need to.”

Lea paused, and Isa used that opportunity to pull the scarf down past his chin, hold his gloved hand to Lea’s cheek, lean up, and kiss him. When Lea gave a satisfying little jump at the cold, Isa only drew him closer. There was something contradictory—or maybe complementary—about the kiss, ice cold but tasting of a sun-warmed sea breeze, like summer and winter in one.

When Isa pulled away, he stayed close enough that their breaths formed a single cloud. Lea had a surprised look on his face, a look he got every once in a while when Isa caught him off guard with public displays of affection, even at night, on an empty street. The thrill hadn’t fully worn off yet. Sometimes Isa wondered if it ever would.

But when Lea was done staring, he said, “Isa, what the shit. You know WINNER sticks come with a cash prize, right?”

He made such a sudden beeline for the trash can that it took Isa a few seconds to lower his hand again. He had not, in fact, been aware of the cash prize, and like hell was he going to let Lea know that. “You realize you probably make more in one night than the prize is worth, don’t you?”

“It’s the _principle_ of the thing,” Lea insisted, his voice gaining a slight echo as he started to search the trash can.

“This is the second most shameless thing you’ve ever done for munny,” Isa said, but Lea kept digging, fueled by his unwavering belief that any potential reward was worth any potential risk. Isa, however, remained the master of minimizing risk and cutting losses, so rather than try to convince Lea to get out of the garbage, he put his hands in his pockets and continued walking. _And there he goes. A twenty-eight-year-old man throwing himself headfirst into a trash can, looking for a popsicle stick that may or may not say WINNER. God,_ Isa thought, hearing Lea finally curse in defeat and shake himself off before jogging to catch up. _I can’t believe he’s mine_.

Lea arrived at Isa’s side, disheveled and slightly out of breath. Isa glanced up at him and raised his eyebrows. “What’s the verdict?”

Lea huffed as he tried to figure out the layers on his scarf and quickly gave up. “Do I look like a winner to you?”

Isa plucked a straw wrapper out of his hair, arranged the scarf more symmetrically, then put his hand back in his pocket, smiling as they continued down the sidewalk.

After another block or so, just before they reached the car, Lea said, “Hey, about what you were saying earlier…just for the record, I don’t agree.”

“With what?”

“That the tiniest difference would’ve changed everything. Maybe that’s how it works on a day-to-day basis. But for the important stuff like this…nah. If I didn’t move to Radiant Garden then, I would’ve moved here eventually. If you weren’t in Central Square that day, you would’ve been on another day.” Lea scratched his hair back into place and glanced at Isa. “You worry so much about how easily things could’ve gone wrong, but I think things were always gonna go right. If we had to wait another day to meet each other, or a week, or a year, or five, or ten—it doesn’t matter.”

Isa didn’t know at what point he stopped moving his feet, but he stood on the cobblestones facing Lea, who looked down at him as adoring and earnest as when he was a kid, but with a calm self-assurance that had taken him until adulthood to fully tap into. “I was always gonna find you, Isa,” he said. “No matter where you hid yourself away, I always did.”

Isa smiled faintly. “If it had taken us ten more years, then we might have already been with other people by the time we met.”

“Sure. Maybe I would’ve dated some other guys first. Maybe you would’ve. But…I dunno. I think about how long we’ve been together already, and I know I never would’ve ended up with anyone else.” He reached out and ran his fingertips through Isa’s hair, trying to brush it out of his face but only making it more staticky. “There could’ve been somebody before you. But there’s no one for me after you. There _is_ no ‘after,’” he corrected, tucking Isa’s hair behind his ear. “There’s just you.”

It took Isa a long time to respond, and Lea waited, absolutely content as Isa’s gaze went back and forth between his eyes. “That’s awfully sentimental,” he finally said, his tone too quiet to be snarky.

“It’s the truth.” Even more quietly, Lea added, “Besides…look where we are.”

Isa did, his expression softening as he took in their surroundings, and when he glanced at Lea again, he saw that he hadn’t looked away from him once, just to watch the realization dawn on his face. Isa rolled his eyes fondly and started walking, leaving Lea to follow. But once he caught up, Isa slid his arm around his waist, and Lea wrapped his arm around Isa’s shoulders, kissing the side of his head as they walked to their car together and left the courthouse behind, strung up with winter lights and filled with summer memories.


	8. I Want You For A Lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter.  
Characters: Lea, Isa, and Lea's mom.  
Hugs and crying galore.

“You ready?”

Isa glanced at Lea, whose bright face was turned up toward the courthouse. His freckles had been brought to the surface by the summer sun, scattered in a raindrop pattern across his cheeks and nose, and his green eyes were practically gleaming.

“Well, I can tell _you_ are.”

Lea smiled at him, the same smile that used to make Isa’s stomach flip when they were younger. It was an expression that said Lea not only had a wild idea in his head, but that he wanted Isa by his side every ridiculous step of the way.

Truthfully, Isa’s stomach still flipped, even now, and Lea—as if he could sense Isa’s nerves—stepped closer and bumped their shoulders together. It wasn’t a friendly shove so much as a fond lean, and he lingered there until Isa returned the gesture and pushed him back into place.

When they finally heard brisk footsteps approaching, they turned their heads and saw Ms. Quinlan hurrying down the sidewalk. “All set!” she said, beaming. “Two-hour parking should give us plenty of time, right?”

“Oh, we’ll do this in twenty minutes,” Lea said. He took Isa’s hand and led him up the stairs, raring to go, but when they reached the top, Ms. Quinlan put her hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Lea…you wanna head inside and figure out where we’re supposed to go? We’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Lea glanced at her, then at Isa, trying not to let his impatience get the better of him. “Yeah, sure,” he said reluctantly. “Just…make it snappy, all right?”

She waved him away, and once he went through the doors, she said to Isa, “I’ll be quick. You guys have already put this off for too long because of me.”

Isa wanted to tell her not to even think about apologizing, that they would have waited as long as necessary for her to be here with them. Instead, he said, “Oh, boy. Am I getting the ‘welcome to the family’ talk?”

“Isa, please, you’ve been here for years,” she said, guiding them both out of the way of pedestrians. “No, I just…” She laughed a little while Isa looked at her curiously. “It’s silly, but I just realized…what are you going to call me?”

“…what?”

“You know, once you two are married. What are you going to call me? Can’t really see you being a ‘Ma’ type.” Isa chuckled in agreement—it suited the slight twang of Lea’s voice, but not his measured tone. After a pause, Ms. Quinlan added, “I mean…you can call me Mom, if you want.”

Isa hesitated. He had never known his biological mother, nor had any attachment to her memory, but that strange guilt came up regardless. It felt transgressive to give the title to someone else, even someone who had essentially filled that role in Isa’s life for the past decade.

“That might be too much,” he said.

“Well, first-name basis is fine with me. Do you think you could get used to calling me Catherine?”

“No. That’s definitely weird.”

“Hmm…how about Cat? That’s what my family used to call me.”

“I’ve _never_ heard you called that before. I think it’d be even weirder.”

“Well, you can’t keep calling me ‘Ms. Quinlan.’ That’s the weirdest possible option.” When Isa shrugged, she said, “Just think it over, then. No rush.” She took a deep breath, letting it all sink in again. “I can’t believe this day’s actually here. Feels like only yesterday that you two were demanding I take you to Disney Town.”

“Excuse me, it was _Lea_ who demanded we go to Disney Town. I was dragged into it just as much as you were.”

“Fair enough,” Ms. Quinlan laughed. “But he wouldn’t have pushed for it if it hadn’t been for you. He didn’t just want to go to Disney Town—he wanted you two to go together.”

Isa smiled, thinking that sounded exactly like the Lea he remembered, and the Lea he still knew to this day. “You know,” Ms. Quinlan went on, “I used to think I had the best son in the world.”

“You do,” Isa said immediately. She smiled.

“No, Isa,” she said, fixing the collar of his shirt so it lay evenly. “I have the best _sons_ in the world.”

Isa stared, looking like he was about to say something, though nothing came out. When Ms. Quinlan reached out for a hug, he returned it quickly, grateful that she hadn’t expected a response from him. She rubbed his back for a minute, then gave him that end-of-hug squeeze before letting go so they could finally meet Lea inside.

Isa only moved back a few inches before he reached for her again, and Ms. Quinlan froze as he hugged her tightly and rested his forehead on her shoulder. She was so used to doling out “mom hugs,” yet she couldn’t remember the last time someone other than her own kid had taken the initiative and hugged _her_ like this. But when she noticed how tense Isa was, she snapped out of it, rubbing his back again and returning the embrace just as tightly.

It was a needed hug, but a brief one. Isa laughed at himself as he let go, and Ms. Quinlan wiped a few of his tears away. “C’mon, none of that,” she said firmly. “Today’s a happy day.”

Isa nodded, rubbing his face, but before he followed her inside, he said, “It is, right? I mean…you’re happy about this?”

Ms. Quinlan gave him a look. “Isa. Stop asking questions you already know the answers to.”

He nodded again, she gave him another brisk back rub, and together they entered the courthouse. Lea was standing just inside the door and perked up when he saw them arrive. “All right,” his mother said. “Which way do we go?”

“…I dunno,” Lea said, surprised by the question. “I was waiting for you.”

She stared at him, and then, with a quiet sigh, she left to go figure it out. Isa folded his hands behind his back and sidled up next to Lea. “So…you’re ready to get married, but you’re too nervous to ask someone where we get the license?”

“Wow, you wanna wait till we’re actually married before we start with the bickering?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been bickering like a married couple since the day we met.”

Lea snickered, then gave Isa a nudge when he saw his mom waving to them from across the room. They followed her down a series of hallways to a quieter section of the building until they reached a set of double doors, but before Ms. Quinlan could open them, Lea stopped, held his hand in front of Isa to stop him as well, and said, “Wait.”

Isa’s anxiety skyrocketed. _He changed his mind_, he thought, his brain spinning like a whirlpool and dragging common sense down to the depths. _He’s calling the whole thing off. This has all just been a long-term prank. I’ve actually been misreading every single thing about our friendship for the past ten years_.

But of course, none of that happened. Nothing at all happened for a moment. The three of them stood in silence, waiting, until Ms. Quinlan finally said, “Uh…what’s up?”

Lea kept his eyes on the doors, staring at them as if accepting an unspoken challenge. “I just wanna, like…” He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and stuck his elbow out. Isa looked at his arm, then up at his face again.

“What are you doing? Are you hurt?” When Lea held his arm out more insistently, the realization finally dawned. “…are you _kidding_ me?”

“_No_, Isa, I’m _not_ kidding. I’m doing this right, okay? Just, like…take my arm, man.”

Isa sighed, as if he were humoring one of Lea’s absurd requests, but as he rested his hand on Lea’s arm, he cast a quick, reflexive glance down the hallway. Lea drew him closer and dropped the demanding tone. “Hey,” he said softly, “you’re gonna have to stop doing that. We’re getting _married_.” Isa nodded, squeezing Lea’s arm as they finally opened the doors and stepped through them together.

Despite Lea’s insistence, he let Isa take his hand back before they reached the desk. Neither one of them knew exactly what to do, but the process turned out to be much more straightforward than they expected. Isa even worried that they would complete the paperwork too quickly, that his nerves wouldn’t heighten in time to shock him with the realization that this was actually, truly happening. But it sank in gently and with certainty, and Isa found he had no trouble accepting that this day was as real as any other in his life.

Before they signed the certificate, the clerk asked if either of them would be filing for a change of name. Lea barely had time to panic about the fact that they had completely forgotten to discuss it—Isa was already reaching across the counter to take the forms, confirming with the clerk that he would be changing his last name. He said it the same way Ms. Quinlan had told the police officers all those months ago that Isa would be coming to live with her: as if it were a simple fact that had long since been decided, and merited no further discussion.

The clerk guided him through the forms, indicating where to sign and telling him that it should take around thirty days for the change to be made official. Isa thanked her, and when he glanced at Lea to finalize the certificate, he paused, letting a slow, disbelieving smile settle on his face. “Are you _crying_?”

“_Yes_,” Lea said accusingly, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes. Isa reached out to him, but Lea dropped his arms with a shaky breath. “_Fuck_,” he said, laughing at himself as he wiped his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Isa wasn’t sure if he was referring to the name change or his reaction to it. He laid his hand on Lea’s upper back and said, “We can take a minute, if you want.” Lea dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand, getting himself back under control. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good. Keep it going.”

Isa nodded, rubbing his back for a few seconds before bringing his arm down, and then both of them jumped at a loud hiccup behind them. They turned in unison to see Ms. Quinlan with her hand over her mouth, already shaking her head and gesturing for them to turn back around.

“Oh my god, she’s crying too,” Isa said, sounding much more distressed than he did when it had been Lea.

“I’m _fine_,” Ms. Quinlan said, her voice wavering the more she tried to emphasize the word. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

“You’re not makin’ it easy, Ma.” She dug her heels in when Lea tried to bring her forward, relenting only when he pointed out that she did agree to be their witness.

“Some witness,” she laughed as she futilely wiped her eyes. She scribbled her signature and tried to step back as soon as she was done, but Lea kept her in place with an arm around her shoulders. “Guys, seriously, just go ahead. Don’t mind me. This is your day.”

“Ma, c’mon. We want you here. You’re part of this, too.”

“This is about _you_,” she said, referring to both of them but only addressing Lea. “You’ve waited so long for this to just be about the two of you. You had to deal with so much, and now you’re finally getting everything you want—”

She broke down a little just saying it, and Lea smiled as he hugged her and let her cry. Isa watched them both with fondness and a strange, lingering jealousy. Despite being a part of this family dynamic, Isa couldn’t fight down that bittersweet twinge of all those years he’d missed out on it. He did, however, quickly identify it as a reflexive feeling, nothing more, and he let it rise up in him and dissipate without a second thought. By the time they were ready to sign the certificate, Isa was smiling again, almost taking the pen from Lea before he finished writing in his eagerness to finally make it official.

Afterward, with the certificate in hand, they spent a few minutes standing outside the courthouse, simply basking in what they had accomplished. Ms. Quinlan started to lead them down the stairs, but about halfway down, Isa put his hand on Lea’s shoulder. “Hold on a sec.”

Lea paused one step below, raising his eyebrows when Isa produced a small box from his pocket. “Oh my god. Are you proposing to me?”

Isa took Lea’s wrist and shoved the box into his hand, saying, “You are such an _ass_,” while Lea chuckled. He was still grinning as he flicked the lid of the box open, but when he laid eyes on its contents, his smile faded. He took the ring out carefully and held it up for viewing. It was perfectly plain, a golden band catching golden sunlight on its crest.

“Do you like it?” Isa asked, and when Lea looked at him, Isa could see everything in his eyes: an affirmation, a declaration, a desire to kiss him right there on the open steps of the courthouse. But he held all of them back, giving Isa a tiny, silent nod instead. Isa gestured for the ring, and Lea returned it, confused until Isa took his hand and gently slid the ring onto his finger for him. Lea stared, continuing to hold his hand up even after Isa let it go.

“Holy shit,” he said softly, looking up as Isa removed the other ring from his pocket. Without needing to be asked, Lea took it from him only to immediately give it back, holding Isa’s left hand reverently with his own and marveling at the sight of the two rings together. He looked up again, not sure what he could possibly say to convey what he was feeling, and Isa spared him the trouble as he leaned in and pressed a light, brief kiss to his mouth.

Lea didn’t return the kiss, too overwhelmed to do anything but wrap his arms around Isa. Isa buried his face in Lea’s neck while Lea raised his hand to the back of Isa’s head, fingers woven in his hair. They said nothing and barely moved, using all of their energy to cling to each other, and when they finally separated, Lea had to wipe his eyes again. “C’mon,” he said quietly, taking Isa’s hand and leading him down the rest of the stairs.

At Ms. Quinlan’s insistence, they went out to lunch for the mid-afternoon “reception.” They were one of only three groups in the entire restaurant, and the freedom to talk without disrupting other diners quickly sent Ms. Quinlan back to babbling. “I’m so happy, I don’t even know what to do with it. I feel like I need to go throw a big rock in the ocean or something.”

“We’ll make that our next order of business,” Isa said. “The rest of the day is still wide open.”

“Come on, though. You guys should go and do something by yourselves after this. You don’t want to spend the whole day hanging out with your mom.”

“Didn’t we cover this already?” Lea asked. “We _want_ you here. You know, when other people get married, they have bridesmaids and groomsmen, and both families filling the seats. We don’t have any of that. I mean, it’s not like we were gonna invite _your_ family.”

“Well, yeah. True.”

“And you know I don’t have any other family to invite,” Isa said. “Plus, I just married my best friend.”

“I just don’t want you two putting your lives off any more than you already have. You should be spending time with each other, not sitting around humoring me.”

Lea and Isa exchanged glances, and Isa surprised himself by being the one to speak up. “Look…Catherine,” he tried, then shook his head while Lea gave him a disconcerted look. “Sorry. That’s gonna take some getting used to. But, listen…we wouldn’t even have done this if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you. Lea _literally_ wouldn’t be here.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “When you were around our age, you left your old family so you could make a new one, right?”

Ms. Quinlan nodded, already struggling to keep it together. “Well, now I’m doing the same thing. For me, today was as much about you as it was about us,” Isa said, gesturing between himself and Lea. “I know the difference between two people and three people doesn’t sound that big. But it is to me. Both of you made the biggest difference in my life, and…I don’t know. I wanted today to reflect that.” He shrugged. “I just thought it should.”

Ms. Quinlan finally let the dam break, reaching across to Isa and pulling him into another hug. “Man,” Lea said as Isa awkwardly patted her back. “We should’ve had a ceremony after all. That would’ve been a killer speech.”

Isa smiled at him over Ms. Quinlan’s shoulder until she released him, drying her eyes with her napkin and giving Lea a fond shove. “I get it, I get it. Enough with the waterworks.” She pushed the remaining dessert toward each of them and gave Isa’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he picked up his fork.

They lingered on the sidewalk after their meals, Lea stretching his arms over his head and sighing contentedly in the late afternoon sun. “All right. What’s next?”

“Guys, for real. You can go off on your own. I won’t be offended.”

“Jesus, Ma. Drop it already. Where are we even gonna go? On a honeymoon?” Lea laughed, but Ms. Quinlan slouched in relief.

“Oh, thank _god_. I’ve been trying to get you to set me up for this all day.”

Lea watched suspiciously as she rooted around in her bag, but his face went slack when she produced a plain envelope. For a few seconds, both he and Isa stared, each one waiting for the other to take it. Then they reached out at the same time, briefly fighting over who would get to open it. Lea tore off the top of the envelope and Isa removed its contents, unfolding a brochure and a printed reservation. He scanned both documents diligently from top to bottom while Lea slowly looked at his mother. “…what _is_ this?”

“Lea, c’mon. You’re a smart kid. You know what it is.” Lea shook his head, which she challenged with a nod. Isa made it to the end of the reservation before looking up at her.

“How…?”

“Surprise!” she said, her weeks of secret-keeping finally reaching their payoff. “Now you know why I made you wait. It just didn’t sit right with me at all, not having a honeymoon. You two should have some time to yourselves.” She pointed at the paper. “Now, meals are included, but the reservation’s only for four days. That was the most I could manage. Plus, school’s gonna be starting up soon, so you probably shouldn’t be away for _too_ long—”

“_Ma_.” She waved her hands to stop herself from babbling, but Lea hadn’t been trying to cut her off. “This is…” He stared at her, gesturing helplessly at the paper in Isa’s hands. “I mean, seriously. This is way too much.”

She put her hands down and gave him a resolute look. “It’s not, Lea, and don’t ever say that,” she said. “I wanted to give you so much more.”

Lea reached for her immediately as if he’d already known what she was going to say, hiding his face in her shoulder while she held him. He said something that Isa couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, it made his mother hug him tighter, instinctively rocking them back and forth. Isa let them have their moment, though it wasn’t long before Ms. Quinlan brought him in as well, the three of them forming a fairly emotional group hug.

When they finally pulled themselves together, Ms. Quinlan insisted once again that they leave, and it was hard to brush her off this time with an actual destination in their hands. They went home to pack as quickly as possible, and she saw them off at the door, stopping them only for some brief parting words.

“Listen,” she said, trying to hurry as the sky turned orange. “I just wanna say…I used to worry about you two so much. I worried about Lea when he was little—living in Traverse Town, not having much family, dealing with bullies. I worried about Isa all the time, even at such a young age, I just…worried. A lot. And seeing you at the counter today, you were both so quiet and—”

She took a moment to collect herself, shaking her head when Lea tried to put a hand on her shoulder. He held both hands up, overly placating in an attempt to make her laugh, which only made it harder for her to keep her composure. With a deep breath, she said, “I just…I know you two are gonna take care of each other.”

Isa was the first to reach out, and soon the three of them were wrapped up in another hug. Ms. Quinlan gave each of them a quick kiss and a little hair ruffle before telling them to hit the road already, trying to save face by faking bossiness. They let her, and with profuse thank-yous and a promise to have a good time, they hopped in Lea’s car and followed the sunset all the way out of Radiant Garden.

* * *

They spent the drive gushing about how amazing their day had been, how surprised they were by the honeymoon, and, in their slightly more serious moments, how happy they were to finally be married. When they arrived at the hotel, however, the mood shifted, subtly but swiftly. As they checked in, it occurred to them that they were not only entering new territory, but entering it alone.

Still, they went upstairs to drop their bags off and check out the room. While it wasn’t a five-star resort, it was easily the nicest hotel either of them had set foot in. Isa—trying to force a sense of normalcy—teased, “Well, no offense to your mom, but this is definitely a step up from the family vacations she used to take us on, huh?”

He expected Lea to joke back, even halfheartedly, but he only smiled. “Isa…she’s your mom, too,” he said. “And this _is_ a family vacation.”

It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, but standing together in their room and hearing Lea say it so simply, Isa finally started to realize just how much his life had changed. He pretended not to be affected by that realization as he looked around the room some more, and Lea watched him fondly for a minute before he started unpacking their bags.

It was past sunset by the time they finished settling in, and while they both agreed dinner would be a good idea, neither one was sure how to behave. Every time Lea reached for his glass or knife, he was jarred by the wedding band on his finger. And for all the excitement and elation that sight brought him, he still felt the urge to close his hand into a fist to hide it.

They made it halfway through their meal before Lea figured he’d rather speak up than wait for Isa to comment on his strange mood. “All right,” he said decisively. “I’m just gonna say it. This is weird.”

Isa paused with his fork above his plate, and Lea, realizing what a non-sequitur that was, added, “…maybe not the best way to kick off our honeymoon.”

“I have no complaints so far,” Isa said, putting his silverware down when he saw Lea do the same.

“I don’t know what’s going on with me right now. I feel like I’m watching my step.”

“Good. About time. I’m not going to spend my vacation making sure you stay out of trouble.” Lea laughed, but as he took a sip of water, Isa watched him closely and said, “What’s up?”

Lea put his glass down and shrugged. “I mean, we just made this as official as possible. There’s no flying under the radar anymore. Not that I _want_ to—we’ve never exactly been good at it anyway. But now we don’t even have the option. It’s just…weird.”

“You can take the ring off, if it’ll help. I won’t mind.”

“Never,” Lea said, so quickly that it took Isa a second to smile. “It’s not even that. It’s like the atmosphere around us has changed, you know?”

“What, you think you’re radiating gay energy?”

“It’s hard to explain, all right?” Lea said, focusing on his dinner again. “That’s just how it feels.”

Isa studied him for a moment, both thrown off and intrigued by his sudden awkwardness. Truthfully, he’d been expecting Lea to play up their relationship as much as possible, like he’d done back when they first started dating, rushing ahead to open doors or wrestling Isa’s backpack from his hands just to take the textbooks out and carry them home for him. Instead, Lea was mumbling out incomplete thoughts and playing with his food like an embarrassed kid.

“I get it,” Isa finally said. “That’s how I felt when we were children.”

Lea looked up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Isa said, choosing his words carefully but speaking them without self-consciousness. “I was afraid to even think about you sometimes, like I wasn’t equipped to handle emotions that strong. It felt like they were taking shape around me, like a thought that burned that bright and that often must be visible to everyone else after a while.”

Lea nodded, sympathetic but fascinated by his explanation. “Well...you could’ve stood to be a little more obvious,” he said. “Might not have taken me so long to realize you were interested.”

“I think it worked out fine.” Lea smiled at Isa, and together they resumed their meal, taking their time and letting both conversation and silence come at a natural pace.

* * *

By the time they returned to their room, night had officially fallen, and when Isa asked Lea how he was feeling, Lea shrugged.

“Still weird, if I’m being honest. It’s like I’m used to hiding. I mean, you remember. We used to not even hold hands if we weren’t hidden.” Lea scratched the back of his head. “I told myself it was kinda fun at first, but I also thought, man, someday we’re not gonna have to do this anymore. We can just be like everyone else. And I don’t think I expected it to have happened already. It almost feels like we should be hiding still, like that’s _right_. Like we shouldn’t be allowed to be here yet.”

He knew he was rambling, and Isa nodded with such clear understanding that Lea felt guilty for bringing it up. “Don’t get me wrong. This is amazing. It’s just gonna take a while for it all to sink in.”

“Well, we can go slow. We literally just started being married this morning.”

“Man,” Lea said, laughing weakly as the realization dizzied him. “What a day.”

Isa stood beside him, rubbing his back gently. “We can do whatever you want,” he said, his hand straying up into Lea’s hair to ruffle the spikes out of place before settling between his shoulders again. “We’ll take our time. We _can_ now.”

Lea continued to lean on Isa, and they stood together for a while, gradually letting their new reality settle in around them. But when Isa suggested moving out to the balcony, Lea’s eyes lit up. “You always know what to say,” he said as Isa started searching his bag.

“I’m gonna get changed,” he said, grabbing his things and heading to the bathroom. “Can I trust you with setting up some candles?”

“Hey, it’s been at least six months since I burned something down. That’s a record.”

“Your confidence in yourself never ceases to amaze me.”

Lea beamed as if he’d been complimented, and Isa went to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he stepped out onto the balcony, he found that Lea had changed into pajamas as well—a T-shirt and sweatpants this time, rather than his usual tank top and boxers. In addition, the small row of candles on the table were the only things on the balcony that had been set on fire. Isa was officially impressed.

They settled down on the small couch, Lea putting his feet up on the table as he leaned back against Isa. They were close enough to the beach to hear the waves, and they let the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide lull them like a heartbeat. Lea closed his eyes as the sea breeze stirred his hair, and the sight of him so relaxed was enough to relax Isa, too, though he kept an eye on Lea’s feet to make sure they didn’t get too close to the candles.

They were partly for mood lighting, and mostly to ward off insects, but Isa saw a memory in the flickering lights. Ms. Quinlan had lit a small fire in the backyard and let the boys toss some sticks in. They used old papers as a fire-starter, and Isa sat back while Lea pushed them under the kindling with one of the longer sticks. Something interesting must have lingered on the pages, some type of ink or adhesive that caused the flames to flash briefly from orange to blue. Lea’s eyes had shone, and he nudged Isa to make sure he’d seen it, too. “Love when they do that,” he’d said.

Everything seemed so obvious in hindsight, Isa thought.

They stayed on the balcony while the moon rose over the ocean—a red moon, Isa pointed out, to which Lea halfheartedly teased, “Nerd.” He shifted a little to kiss Isa’s cheek, and Isa tilted his head away to keep an eye on the candles.

“Lea, watch it.”

“Hmm?” Lea said, turning fully onto his side so he could get at Isa’s neck. But his feet strayed too close to the candles for Isa’s comfort, and he sat up abruptly, forcing Lea to follow suit.

“Seriously, we’ve been married for half a day and you’re already trying to set yourself on fire?” Isa gathered the candles in the center of the table, and when he glanced at Lea to lecture him further, he paused. Lea sat silently on the edge of the couch, staring at Isa, and Isa stared back, studying his expression, so calm but so focused, his face softened by the firelight.

Isa rose to his feet, helping Lea up and sliding the door open for him. He began blowing out the candles while Lea went inside to wait, standing in the middle of the room again. He could still hear the waves in the distance, but in a few seconds Isa would shut the door on the outside world, and nothing beyond their room would exist. _This is insane_, Lea thought, trying to keep from tapping his foot. _Why am I nervous_?

When Isa came inside, he did close the door, but he left the floor-length curtains open. Their room was too high up to need them drawn, and there was nothing outside but the ocean anyway, but it thrilled Lea to see that small act of not hiding. Isa shut off the lights, but Lea suspected that was less for the sake of privacy than to take advantage of the moonlight, which wasn’t red at all, but pale blue, spilling through the windows and throwing stark geometric patterns onto the floor and walls.

Lea was still waiting halfway between the door and the bed, and Isa joined him without a word. He simply stood before Lea and started to kiss him, keeping him there for several long minutes while Lea slowly kissed him back. At first, he wondered why Isa wasn’t taking them to the bed, but the longer they stayed there in the center of the room, the less he wondered about anything.

He couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a kiss like this, one that felt important but not completely pivotal. They used to make out as if it meant nothing, because they were afraid of what it would mean otherwise. And when they were a little older, that false apathy was replaced by an undercurrent of urgency, as if what they shared between them was never meant to last, and each kiss therefore had to mean everything.

Lea knew now, with absolute certainty, that this had never been true. Every kiss would be built upon all that they’d shared instead of making it hang in the balance. For years, their love had felt fleeting, hidden, even stolen. Something meant for empty beaches and crystal hideaways and castle ruins and the cramped cab of a pickup truck. Now it would see them through the night and be there when they awoke, unhidden in the morning sun.

When Isa finally started to guide them to the bed, Lea was so caught off guard that he stumbled over his feet as if they’d fallen asleep. He kissed Isa again before he could ask if Lea was okay, reassuring him through actions instead of words. He sat down carefully, reaching back with one hand to steady himself and holding Isa with the other to make sure they didn’t separate for a moment.

Again, Isa kept them where they were, and again Lea’s thoughts began to distract him. He wondered if Isa’s back was getting sore from leaning over him like that, and why he was still standing in the first place, and why, despite his nervous excitement, there weren’t any butterflies in his stomach yet. Then Isa stepped closer and put his knee on the mattress beside Lea, and Lea thought, _Oh. There they are_.

He reclined on the bed, bringing Isa with him and trying to use their momentum to keep going. But with each step forward, Isa slowed them down again, not holding Lea back but not letting him rush ahead, either. Somehow, it wasn’t until Isa guided him further up the mattress and slid a pillow under his head that Lea finally realized he was being taken care of. Isa was going slowly not just for his own benefit, but for Lea’s, ensuring that he was absolutely ready for the next move before they made it.

Overcome with love, Lea pulled Isa closer, both of them going still for a few seconds while Lea held him in a deep kiss. When Isa eased him back down, Lea let him set the pace again, trusting his sureness and comforted by his level of devotion. Lea had been drilling the “don’t wait—act” mantra into Isa’s head for years, but Isa had argued that patience was a virtue, and moments like these reminded Lea that sometimes, he was right.

They spent a long time making out on the bed, with Isa pouring all his attention into it as if he were trying to fill each kiss with a decade’s worth of unspoken I love yous. The most Lea could manage to do was occasionally comb Isa’s hair out of the way, just to keep him from having to stop and do it himself. When Isa finally paused for a breath, Lea gazed up at him, as enamored as always with the sight of his face. He had features that were hard-edged and soft and elegant all at once, and eyes that were bright but cool—a face made for moonlight.

Isa leaned down again, and with no hesitation or inhibitions, Lea looked him in the eye and breathed, “You’re beautiful.”

Isa drew back the few inches he’d already leaned in, stunned out of his focus on Lea. A fleeting and almost heartbreaking look of surprise passed over his face before he covered it in embarrassment, laying his hand over his eyes but still allowing Lea to see the breathless smile underneath.

Lea stared, captivated by his reaction. It was a kind of smile he’d never seen on Isa’s face before, and he wondered if, in _ten years_, this was truly the first time he’d ever told him he was beautiful. Gently, Lea took Isa’s wrist and lowered his hand. He waited until Isa met his gaze, then he pulled him back down, both of them moving forward this time without pause.

By the time they finished, the moonlight had reached the bed, and Isa lay in it contentedly until Lea pulled the covers up. They settled in and tried to relax, though after a minute of enduring Lea’s restless jittering, Isa shoved his leg with his foot. “Quit it.”

“Can’t. I’m too excited,” Lea said, though he made an effort to still his leg. Isa lay there for a few more minutes before turning on his side, putting his hand under the pillow for extra support. Lea was already facing him, and for a while, they simply looked at each other. Lea used to feel self-conscious under Isa’s gaze, or anyone’s, for that matter. He always thought he was remarkably bad at eye contact for an extrovert. It was as if looking away was how he regained his composure, while holding eye contact was how Isa maintained it.

But now, Lea craved it, finding that it brought another layer of intimacy to their interactions. He held Isa’s chin and brushed his thumb over his lips, and without Isa having to say anything, Lea asked, “What’s up?”

Isa kissed his thumb once as it crossed his mouth, then shrugged. “I’m trying to feel different. Like _this_ is different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It should be, shouldn’t it? We’re married. That’s…huge.” He fiddled with his ring, taking on Lea’s usual role as the nervous fidgeter. As surprised as Lea still was by the sight of his own wedding band, he hadn’t touched it once. From the moment Isa had put it on his hand, it felt right at home.

“Feeling overwhelmed?”

“A little.”

“Wanna get divorced so we can go back to being boyfriends?”

Isa smiled, but he was clearly still preoccupied. Lea watched him for a moment, then quietly said, “Hey,” scooting close enough that they could see each other without any pillows in the way. “You okay?”

Isa looked at him and said, with utter seriousness, “I’ve never been more okay in my entire life.”

“Good. And before you ask: _yes_, I’m okay, too.”

He had a familiar, teasing tone, but Isa just moved closer, too tired to lift his head from the pillow as they kissed again. Lea wrapped his arms around Isa’s waist, holding him there until Isa pulled away enough to say, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Lea said, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “_So_ much, Isa.”

Isa smiled again when Lea said his name. He was one of the few people who had gotten it right on the first try, pronouncing it with a sharp consonant, more of a _z_ than an _s_. Eyes instead of ice. He smoothed Lea’s hair back from his forehead, then trailed his fingertips lightly down the side of his face. Lea let his eyes close as Isa traced his jaw all the way to his chin, and when he looked at Isa again, he said, “I’ve always loved you, you know.”

“Really,” Isa laughed, pinching the end of one of Lea’s spikes and twirling it back and forth, spiraling it around itself like a seashell. “You fell in love at eight years old?”

“No, obviously. I wasn’t ‘in love’ with you then. But I still loved you.” Lea brushed the backs of his fingers over Isa’s cheek, gazing at his entire face before meeting his eyes again. “It’s been eleven years since I met you, and I’ve loved you for all of them. I loved you as my friend, and I loved you as my boyfriend. And I’m gonna love you as my husband for the rest of my life.”

Isa stared for a few seconds, and then he, the reigning king of eye contact, looked aside. But the more he tried to turn away, the closer Lea held him. “Oh my god,” he said, delighted as he tried to get a better look at Isa’s face, which was nearly glowing in the dark. “Are you _blushing_?”

“Shut up. This is so weird. We’ve only been married for a day. We were only really boyfriends for, like…three years.”

Lea kissed his cheek, grinning at how warm it was. “So? Being your boyfriend was great, but being married is gonna be amazing. It has been so far.”

Isa, still a little red, settled more comfortably in Lea’s arms, letting him stroke his hair while he tried to relax again. He was the first to start falling asleep, but before he drifted off, he muttered, “Hey…you were right. We should’ve had a ceremony.”

“Yeah?” Lea whispered, still running his fingers slowly through Isa’s hair. Isa nodded, nuzzling against Lea’s chest in the process.

“_That_ would’ve been a great speech.”

* * *

It took Lea forever to fall asleep, and even when he did, he kept waking up throughout the night. The first time was around two o’ clock, and when he saw Isa sleeping soundly in his arms, his hand on Lea’s chest and his ring almost silver in the moonlight, Lea could hardly believe it. He just stared, ensuring that that sight was the only image in his mind before he fell asleep again.

The next time he awoke was around 4:30. Isa wasn’t there, and the sliding door to the balcony was open, the curtain brushing gently against the floor with the breeze. Lea grabbed whatever clothes he could find on the floor, and once he’d put on his boxers and Isa’s T-shirt, he took a blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapped it around his shoulders, and made his way outside.

Isa was sitting on the couch with his arms around his legs and his chin on his knees. It was a defensive, childlike pose, but he looked at ease, and his face was completely tranquil as he gazed at the starless horizon. He was wearing Lea’s T-shirt, and when he turned and saw Lea in his own shirt, he smiled. He started to move over, but Lea sat at the end of the couch, putting a leg on either side of Isa and pulling him back against his chest. Isa turned just enough to kiss Lea’s cheek, and Lea did the same to him. They both leaned in together for the third kiss before Isa reclined again, laying his head on Lea’s shoulder while Lea wrapped his arms around Isa, enveloping them both in the blanket. They sat that way for over an hour, listening to the breeze and the waves and the sleepy insects chirping in the grass, and when the sky started to brighten, their rings shone with the colors of their marriage’s first sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't post this one tonight, because I'm exhausted and didn't feel like editing. But when I looked out my window and saw the moon rising over the ocean, I remembered that it was the last full moon of the year _and_ the decade, and I realized I had to do it. In honor of Isa.


	9. Will The Intrusions Never End?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Lea, Isa...Thorn...etc...

Lea and Isa weren’t petty enough to fight over something as inconsequential as the weather. They were, however, just petty enough to deny that was what they were doing.

It was an off day to begin with. They’d been getting on each other’s cases over the smallest things, knowing how pointless it was even as they continued to do it. They took Thorn out together to see if that would improve their mood, but the December drizzle that started ten minutes into their walk sent them fleeing back home. Isa squeezed the water from his hair while Lea and Thorn shook it from theirs, a sight that normally would have made Isa smile. Today, it only made him scold Lea while he grabbed a towel for Thorn and gingerly dried her paws.

The rain let up as quickly as it had begun, but they didn’t push their luck with another walk. Isa started preparing dinner, and Lea sat at the table, doing nothing in particular until Thorn coughed up a tiny puddle of water and bile in the corner. “_Now_ will you call?” Isa asked while Lea got the paper towels and spray bottle. “That’s the second time today.”

“It’s barely anything,” Lea said as Thorn grimaced and tried to lick the taste out of her mouth. He ruffled her fur and knelt down to clean up the mess. “She’s probably just stressed out ‘cause you’re being a total helicopter dad. Let’s wait and see if she feels better. If all it is is nerves, then a visit to the V-E-T is just gonna make her feel worse.”

“I told you: if she’s smart enough to learn the word, she’s smart enough to learn the spelling. And what ever happened to ‘don’t wait, act?’”

“Or hey, maybe she’s stressed because you keep snapping at me for, like, no reason,” Lea said, throwing the paper towels out and edging his way in front of the sink to wash his hands. Isa refused to move over more than a couple inches.

“First of all, if she’s stressed, it’s because _you’re_ snapping at _me_.” Lea rolled his eyes. “Secondly, you’re not qualified to make that determination. Schedule an appointment.”

“Uh, we’re off the clock, y’know. You don’t have to bark orders 24/7.”

“If you took more initiative, I wouldn’t have to.”

“Well, why don’t _you_ call, if you think it’s such an emergency? I mean, whose idea was it to adopt her in the first place?”

Lea stiffened as soon as he heard those words leave his mouth, but they didn’t even break Isa’s stride. He simply set his jaw, and that was the look Lea hated most: the proof that, after all this time, Isa was still holding back. _Just get _mad_ at me_, Lea thought. _Nothing bad is gonna happen. I won’t even get mad back. You can tell me I fucked up—I _did.

Instead, he put the dishtowel down, leaving his hands half-dry, and said, “I didn’t mean that,” feeling like it was the weakest follow-up he could have chosen. “You know I’d never mean that.”

“I know,” Isa said as he threw everything into a pan. He sounded a little too accepting of Lea’s misstep, as if he’d expected him to make one sooner or later. “Clearly we’re just saying whatever comes to mind right now. So let’s drop it until we’re ready to say what we actually mean.”

And there it was. With one fleeting, thoughtless remark, Lea had drawn out their argument indefinitely. He would have preferred to get everything out of their systems—dumb comments included—so they could move on to resolving the conflict as quickly as possible. But it had been this way since they were children: Lea trying to drag Isa ahead while Isa tried to keep them in place, Lea fearing the consequences of a missed opportunity while Isa feared the consequences of a wrong decision.

So, accepting that whatever had gone amiss today was most likely his fault, Lea resigned himself to the family room, though he had no idea what to do out there. Watching TV while Isa handled dinner felt childish, but cleaning just to kill time felt petty. He sighed in relief when he heard a knock at the front door. “Thank god,” he said, hoping he sounded more self-deprecating than passive aggressive. “I’ll get it.”

He unlocked and opened the door, already feeling sorry for whatever unsuspecting soul waited on the other side, about to become an emotional buffer between himself and his husband. Brandt was folding his coat over his arm, and he almost did a double take when he looked up and saw who had answered the door for him. But he overcame his surprise and reverted to disdain in no time, still a pro after all these years.

“Of course,” he said—wearily, as if the universe lived to disappoint him and nothing could truly catch him off guard anymore. Lea stared, caught off guard enough for both of them. Without giving his jaw a chance to drop, he swung the door, but Brandt wedged one shoe over the threshold, and Lea—hating himself as soon as he did it—leaned back. Embers that he’d left untended for years suddenly ignited in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to repeatedly slam the door until Brandt either withdrew his foot or let it break, but he merely forced himself to step closer, regaining the ground he’d momentarily lost.

The slight wince on Brandt’s face when Lea put pressure on the door was both reassuring and massively unsettling. It was the first sign Lea had ever seen that the man was human. Encouraged, he squeezed the door harder. “_Fuck off_.” Brandt placed his hand on the outside of the door, and while he didn’t try to push it back open, he didn’t remove his foot, either.

“Calm down. I’m not—”

“What are you _doing_ here? How did you even find us?”

“God, ‘find’ you—they told me as soon as you got the place. That’s how restraining orders _work_.”

“So why don’t you restrain yourself at least five hundred feet away from this apartment?”

“Because the order’s up.” He smiled grimly when Lea’s gaze unfocused so he could count the years, just to make sure ten of them really had passed. “I know. Time flies.”

Lea couldn’t accept an explanation that simple. Time must have flown so quickly that it reversed itself, dropping them all back in the past. It was the only thing that made sense, because surely Brandt wasn’t standing in their doorway now, still inflicting himself on their lives in the present.

“I don’t give a fuck about the restraining order. Get _out_.”

“Just relax. I didn’t come here for a fight.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come at all. I’m not fucking with you, Arthur; I will call the police.”

“Oh, _that’s_ a new one. Are you going to do it yourself this time, or is your mother here to dial the phone?”

The red flare of anger was overcome by a stab of fear, burying itself as deep as Lea's childhood. It took him back to all the times Brandt was at his house, talking to his mother at the front door or on the walkway while Lea hid in the kitchen, unable to figure out why being around his best friend's father made him so uncomfortable.

But with Isa and Thorn in the kitchen now, that room was no longer a hideout he could flee to, but a haven he needed to protect. Lea pushed the door a little further. “My mother has _concussed_ guys tougher than you,” he spat. “And if she knew the things I know about you, she’d do so much worse.”

“I get it,” Brandt said, his tone growing icier. “You think I belong in prison. Believe me, you’ve made that _very_ clear.”

“Oh, no. I think you belong in the ground.”

“_Jesus_, you’re as dramatic as ever. Look, I didn’t come here to hash this out with you. I came here to speak with my son. And I haven't waited ten years just to be turned away at the door by the roommate.”

Lea’s mind was spinning fast enough to combust. He forced down his embarrassment—and his anger at allowing Brandt to make him feel embarrassed in the first place—and stuck to the facts. “News flash,” he said, “you _are_ talking to your son.” He waited for the confusion to settle on Brandt’s face before he showed him his hand. “Roommate’s kind of an understatement, huh?”

Brandt stared at the ring for a moment before giving Lea a flat look. “You have _got_ to be kidding,” he deadpanned, and Lea tried to hate him hard enough to ignore how much he sounded like Isa.

“Nope," he said with brittle brightness, leaning on the door again. "So, like I said: fuck off.”

“I told you, I'm not leaving. What’s with the whispering, anyway?” Brandt asked, looking past Lea’s hair and into the apartment. “Is he here?”

Lea pressed on the door, trying to be as assertive as possible while still keeping his voice low. “Just get _out_.”

“All I want is to talk to him. If I have to do it through six inches of open door, then I will.”

In the kitchen, Thorn finally noticed the voices at the door and whined, too empathetic for her own good. Lea heard Isa reassure her before putting something down on the counter, and he _knew_ Isa’s next move would be to cross the room and say something to him. They’d spent so many evenings at home together, it was as if Lea understood his patterns and behaviors on a cellular level.

Still, he was at a loss when Isa called his name and approached the family room, Thorn’s paws clicking dutifully behind him on the kitchen tile. He wanted to slam the door, regardless of Brandt’s foot, but there was no way to do it without Isa asking a slew of admittedly reasonable follow-up questions. Before Lea could figure out how to take control of the situation, Brandt looked over his shoulder and said, “Isa?”

Isa stopped abruptly. He seemed confused, trying to identify a voice that had a familiar ring, but whose matching face was stored deep in the recesses of long-term memory. But he remembered soon enough, especially when Lea turned to look at him and revealed Brandt standing just outside the door.

A moment of silence passed before Thorn whined again, distressed by both the stranger and Isa’s lack of reaction to him. Isa didn’t put his hand out to comfort her, even when she nudged him with her nose. Brandt drew his foot back, and Lea, for whatever reason, didn’t jump on the chance to slam the door in his face. For a minute, Brandt only stared, as surprised by the sight of Isa as Isa was by the sight of him. The last time he'd seen his son, Isa had been a shaken, slightly underfed teenager, sitting across a courtroom and averting his eyes while the judge issued a restraining order. Now he was a grown man, with hair all the way down his back, and, most noticeably, twin scars criss-crossing the center of his face.

Lea realized after a long stretch of silence that both he and Brandt were waiting for Isa to speak. When he finally did, all he asked was, “Why are you here?”

Brandt didn't answer right away, and Lea hated how _respectful_ he was suddenly acting, as if anything he could say mattered enough for him to have to choose his words carefully. “I wanted to see you—to talk to you,” Brandt said. “It’s been a long time. Ten years.”

Isa paused, his gaze unfocusing just like Lea’s had as he flipped the pages of his mental calendar. He couldn't help wondering why the years with his father had seemed never-ending while the years without him had flown by in what now felt like a heartbeat.

“And what is it you’d like to say?”

“…can I come in first?”

Lea looked straight at Isa, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. After a long moment of both his husband and his estranged father staring at him, each waiting for an entirely different response, Isa gave Lea a half-nod, half-shrug. Fighting back every instinct he had, Lea slowly stepped aside, losing the meager ground he’d reclaimed and then some. He refused to go so far as to open the door for Brandt, not wanting the man to think he'd truly been invited in.

Brandt entered the apartment, ignoring Lea now that he and Isa had each other's attention. Lea nudged the door halfway closed, then crossed the room, standing closer to Isa but not too far from Brandt.

“Thanks,” Brandt said to Isa, sounding about as sincere as he ever had. “Well…it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. That was the point.”

“Yeah…fair enough.” He looked Isa over, nodding once at his face. “What happened there?”

“I was hit with a glass bottle.”

Brandt looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. There was a fight—a lot of glassware went flying. Unfortunately, my face ended up in the crossfire.” Isa raised his hand to touch the scars before he realized what he was doing, though he recovered quickly, dropping his arm back to his side. “I guess someone decided to finish what you started.”

His frankness jarred Lea, but Brandt had obviously expected that point to come up sooner or later. “Look, Isa…the last time I saw you…” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and Isa waited patiently.

“It all happened very fast,” Brandt finally said. “And with the restraining order, I never really got a chance to explain. I feel like I owe you at least that much.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Isa said. “I understand exactly what happened, and why. What you owe me is an apology.”

Brandt hesitated. “I do want to make amends,” he began, and before he could go on, Isa said, “To apologize?” Brandt sighed.

“Isa, listen. I want to have a _conversation_ with you. We both need to be—”

“Apologize to him _now_,” Lea said coldly, “or leave.”

Brandt didn’t even look at him. “I came here to see _you_,” he said to Isa. “Would it be possible for us to speak alone?”

Lea was ready to explode. “You are _never_ going to be alone with him again,” he said, and Brandt finally deigned to give him a dry look.

“I’m amazed you can hear us all the way up there in the peanut gallery,” he said, and once again, Lea loathed how easily he could hear that line in Isa’s voice. “But feel free to sit this one out. This is a family matter.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

“Quiet,” Isa said calmly, and both of them obeyed, not knowing which one he was speaking to. It took him a moment to gather his own thoughts, or maybe he was simply putting a mindful pause before each reply, to keep the conversation from escalating into a shouting match, or worse. Eventually, he looked up at his father. “He’s not going anywhere. Whatever you say to me, you might as well say to both of us, because I’ll just end up telling him anyway. Besides,” he added, his voice finally gaining an edge, however blunt it was, “you owe him an apology, too.”

Lea felt guilty for being surprised to hear him say that. He stared at Isa, who stared at Brandt until he relented. Not truly—just enough to play it off as if he’d committed a mild social faux pas, nothing more. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he said, in a way that might have convinced two people who had never met him before. “It’s just…this is a lot to take in. I haven’t seen you in a decade, and after all this time I find out you went and got married to the Quinlan kid.”

“Lea. You _know_ his name is Lea. You’ve known him for twenty years.”

Brandt set his mouth in a line, accepting that reprimand, though he neither apologized nor said Lea’s name. “So,” Isa went on, looking disappointed in his reaction. “What did you come here to say? Did you simply want to remind me how long it’s been?

“I don’t like how we left things.” Lea scoffed before he could stop himself, though Brandt was still ignoring him. “I just…have regrets about how it went. I wanted to talk to you and hopefully clear some of it up.”

Isa spent a minute scrutinizing him. “You want me to forgive you,” he said slowly, to make sure he had it right, “without you having to apologize?”

“I just want to explain. I know you hold a lot against me, and I can’t change that. I can’t change the past, either. I made mistakes. The way I raised you—that was how my own father raised me. I’ll admit, I took it too far with you. My father took it too far with me at times, too. But I never doubted that he cared for me.”

“Well, you probably should’ve,” Lea cut in.

Brandt was forced to acknowledge him again, and he seemed more annoyed by that fact than by what Lea had said. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“And you’ve gotten worse.”

“You’ve _always_ had this problem. No respect for your elders, and no respect for authority.”

“Oh, boy, if you think you were ever an _authority_ figure—”

“The way you spoke to your own mother—it astounds me that she put up with it as well as she did.”

“Yeah, maybe she should’ve fuckin’ slapped me a few times to keep me in line, right?”

“I lost my temper,” Brandt said. “I’ll admit that. I _have_ admitted it. But that doesn’t mean children don’t need discipline now and then.”

“You hit your own kid, and _he’s_ the one who needed discipline? Do you even fucking _hear_ the bullshit that comes out of your mouth?”

“Didn’t I tell you to calm down?”

“Didn’t I tell you to go to hell?”

“_Lea_,” Isa said, weary just from being on the sideline of their argument. Lea fumed, embarrassed that he had to be reined back in, but Isa went on to say, “Dad, he’s right. You said it yourself: you lost your temper. That alone is a lack of discipline.”

“…yes. I lost my temper once, and I’ve been living with the consequences for the past decade.”

“You certainly made the most of it. You hit me as if you’d been looking for an excuse to do it for years. And _no_,” Isa added, “it wasn’t once. You hit me all the time, and it took me far too long to understand that.”

"Isa," Brandt said, almost gently, “I think you’re blowing this out of proportion—”

“When I made the report, I said that you gave me a slap on the back of the head, and when I tried to push you away, that was when you hit me. And the officer said—and I swear, I’ve never forgotten this—‘So, he hit you twice?’ A police officer had to tell me that you’d been hitting me all those years, because god knows it didn’t sink in when Lea said it. He asked, you know. When I was fifteen, sixteen? He asked outright if you hit me, and I said no. I couldn’t believe he’d even suggest it. And when I finally told him everything, after I moved in with him and Catherine, I _still_ defended you. I said none of it really counted, that technically you only hit me that one time. But he knew better. Both of them did. You could hide in plain sight from me, but not from normal people.”

“I’ve told you I regret that incident when you were eighteen—”

“Yeah,” Lea said, “‘cause you finally got caught.”

“Tensions were high, and my judgment was flawed. I _will_ cop to that.”

“You hit him with a _belt_,” Lea blurted out. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to bring it up, but he was beginning to fear that no one would, and he couldn't last another second without reminding everyone who they were dealing with.

It was either the exact wrong or the exact right thing to say. Lea could feel Isa turn to stone beside him, and Brandt didn’t look much better, his gaze fixing on Lea in disbelief before finally returning to Isa. “You’re bringing up things that happened _once_,” he said. “_One_ instance, twenty years ago.”

Again: either the exact wrong or exact right thing to say. Lea and Isa unleashed at the same time, talking over each other in a chorus of “How is that _better_? He was _eight_ twenty years ago” and “You only did it once because you knew you couldn’t get away with it a second time.”

The two of them speaking in unison was more than Brandt was willing to contend with, and he raised his hand to cut them off. Isa’s eyes were on it in an instant, the stone shell around him cracking as quickly as it had set in, and Lea took a half-step forward, one hand fanning instinctively in front of Isa. Even Thorn spoke up, barking properly for the first time since they had adopted her. There was protest in her fear now, even if she followed it immediately with a more familiar whine, shrinking back behind Isa.

Brandt stared at the three of them, incredulity sinking in. “Isa,” he said quietly, putting his arm at his side again. “I wasn’t going to hit you.”

“I know,” Isa said, touching Lea’s arm to move him aside, which Lea did reluctantly. “It’s a reflex. I’d tell you not to take it personally, but you probably should.” Brandt gave him an unamused look, but before he could reply, Isa added, “And just for the record? I don’t know anyone else whose parents have to specify that they aren’t going to hit them.”

Brandt looked tired, as if his well-crafted arguments and logical points continued to be misunderstood. “We’re from different times. What might seem excessive to you was commonplace when I was growing up. I did nothing to you that my own father didn’t do to me, and much more frequently. When he bothered to come home, anyway.”

“Well, Lea’s father _abandoned_ him, if we’re making it a contest. I used to be jealous of him, as awful as that sounds. I’d think, at least his father had the decency to leave him alone.”

“It’s not that cut and dry, Isa, and it’s very easy for you to say these things without a frame of reference. If you had children of your own, you’d understand.”

Isa had held out this far, but his composure finally crumbled. He stared at his father, looking both taken aback and mildly sick. “You think I’d ever have children after being raised by you?” he asked, which was apparently a curve ball of a response, given Brandt’s open surprise. “And I did understand you. My entire life revolved around understanding you. I had to rationalize everything you did, because otherwise I would have noticed I was carrying the weight of the world for you, and it would have destroyed me. Now, the older I get, the _less_ I understand.”

“You make it sound like I lived to spite you,” Brandt said. “I was a new parent. There was an enormous learning curve, and I hadn’t planned to go through it alone.”

“I suppose you blame me for that, too.”

The silence caught all of them in its grip. Brandt tried to glare but was too stunned to commit to it. “How could you say that?” he asked, and Isa looked stunned right back.

“How could I not?” he replied. “It’s the truth. You’ve been telling me since I was seven years old.” Brandt blinked, the glare fading even more and giving way to pure confusion. “…when I turned seven. You told me about how she’d been sick for months before I was born, and that the doctors said the odds of both of us surviving were essentially zero. She had the option to save herself, and she didn’t. She died to save me instead.”

Isa paused, his brow furrowing slightly as his focus turned inward. “It was so out of left field for you. I think, in your mind, it was supposed to make me realize how special and important I was. You never tried harder than that to make me feel good about myself, and you couldn’t have possibly made me feel worse.” He looked up again to see his father staring blankly at him. “…and you don’t even _remember_,” Isa said, realizing that, after all these years, it was still possible for his father to shock him. “That’s the worst part, by far. What a horrible thing to drop on a child, and it didn’t even make a splash for you.”

When Brandt finally spoke, there was real, undeniable pain in his voice, however much he tried to contain it. “This is _not_ what I came here to discuss.”

Isa shrugged. “Then we’re done.”

Brandt stared him down, and Isa looked at him with remarkable steadiness, two pairs of matching, ice blue eyes in a silent stalemate. There were thirty-something years between them, and they showed in the white flecks in Brandt’s hair and the creases around his mouth. But the resemblance was stronger than ever with the two of them standing face-to-face in adulthood for the first time. They had the same bone structure, the same regal profile, the same severe but controlled glare. Lea ignored Brandt as hard as he could in that moment, because the next time he looked his husband in the eye, the only person he wanted to be able to see was Isa.

“What do you expect me to say?” Brandt asked. “I loved your mother, Isa. Losing her was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. And I don’t know what you gain from making me talk about this. None of it should be news to you.”

“It’s not. I know you loved her. And you clearly love yourself. So what made it so difficult for you to love me? I’m _both_ of you.”

Brandt shook his head, disappointed and impressed at the same time. “You just have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Isa said, “I do. And I should. I’ve been having these conversations with you in my head for years, and it’s unfolding the way I always expected. So thank you for being predictable for once.” He seemed to soften for a minute. “I missed her, too. I know I never met her. I just knew there was an empty space in my life where someone else was supposed to be. Then I hated her for a while, for leaving me alone with you.”

“I know it was hard for you,” Brandt said, ignoring that last comment. “It was hard for me, too. Things weren’t ideal for us. And I know…” He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself together. “Diana made her choice, and it’s been the toughest thing for me to accept. I wished every day that she could’ve been there to help me raise you. And I wished every day that you didn’t have to grow up without a mother.”

But Isa was shaking his head. “I’m sorry you lost your wife,” he said, sounding truly sincere. “Losing a partner is the worst thing I can imagine. But I haven’t been without a mother since I was eight years old.”

He expected that one to be hard for Brandt to swallow, and once the meaning sank in, it clearly was. It was as close as Isa could get to returning the slap in the face.

“I know you miss her,” he went on. “I know you think that’s why you treated me the way you did, especially around this time of year. But missing her isn’t enough to explain it. You just…hated me. And honestly, I don’t know why anymore. I tried so hard to figure it out. But there’s no better version of me you can trade this one for. And you can’t trade me to get your wife back, either. She wouldn’t want you to; even I know that.”

Lea’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Isa’s shoulder or back, and he hated that even now, in his own home, he was still keeping his distance because of Brandt.

“I know I’m not the son you wanted,” Isa said, “but I’m the son you had, and you should have loved me anyway. I mean, Catherine was a teenager when she had Lea. She didn’t ask for that. And she loves him because of who he is and what he is. You can’t even love me in _spite_ of it.”

Brandt looked like he had a counterpoint, but Isa, for the first time in his life, refused to let him speak. “And you think it’s good that you only used the belt once? That was the worst part. I never knew what I did wrong, so I had no idea how to avoid it in the future. I used to wish that you’d at least give me some kind of pattern to learn. I didn’t even think to wish for a father who wouldn’t hit me in the first place. It took me years to understand how wrong that was. At times, I still don’t get it. I replay an event from twenty years ago, and I know it was wrong, because Lea and Catherine have told me, but _why_ was it wrong? _Why_ didn’t I deserve to be treated that way? Some nights, I can’t figure it out. I just have to fall asleep trusting that I’m right to believe them.”

He paused, noticing that Brandt was giving him that blank look again. Isa had been throwing stones in a lake, and all of them had sunk without the slightest ripple of remorse or understanding. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice filled with clarity, effectively ending the discussion no matter what else Brandt had to say.

“I told you,” Brandt tried anyway, “I came here to have a conversation. If all you’re interested in doing is bringing up past mistakes, then—”

“You didn’t make mistakes. You made choices. As have I.” Isa made sure his father was looking him in the eye before he said, “Leave.”

They stared at each other again, and while Brandt didn’t look like he was about to do anything drastic, he wasn’t making a move for the door, either. Isa was so focused on him, he’d forgotten to even expect backup, and it came as a startling surprise to both of them when Lea said, “Yes, it’s an emergency.”

They turned to him at the same time, and Thorn took that opportunity to inch closer to Isa. Lea had his phone at his ear and his eyes glued on Brandt. “8 Crescent Circle, apartment 7. There’s a man here who forced his way into our apartment. He’s refusing to leave.” Brandt’s glare hardened, and Lea glared right back. “I don’t know if he’s armed. But he’s assaulted my partner before and might be in violation of a restraining order. We need an officer to come and remove him.” Another pause, then Lea glanced at his watch. “Thanks. Yeah, I’ll stay on the line.”

Brandt looked at Isa, and whatever parting words he might have prepared or hoped to deliver were lost to the world when he saw how his son was looking back at him. Isa said nothing as well, deciding that a 911 call was the most fitting way to end this surprise visit. After a lingering glance at Isa and not even a fleeting one at Lea, Brandt finally turned to leave. He refused to do them the courtesy of slinking out in shame or making a break for it. He simpy walked out the door and down the hallway, as if he’d decided of his own volition that it was time to go.

Lea waited until they couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, then crossed the room and shut the door. He forced himself to only do one of the locks, trying not to overreact. But as he slid his phone back into his pocket, he cracked a joke that only increased the tension rather than curbing it. “Well, I get why you don’t want me playing poker. Really thought he was gonna call my bluff for a second there.”

Isa didn’t say anything, staring at the spot where his father last was. He seemed to still be processing everything that had just happened while Lea was already shaking, more with adrenaline than fear. He scratched the back of his head, adrift in the wake of Isa’s silence. “Um…do you—”

“Will you keep an eye on dinner?”

Lea paused, taken aback, but quickly said, “Yeah, sure.” There was an odd inflection in his voice, as if he were about to go on to ask if Isa was all right, if there was anything else he wanted Lea to do. But he said nothing, and Isa was walking back through the apartment anyway.

Lea waited a moment so it wouldn’t seem like he was following, then he went into the kitchen, cursing quietly when he saw that half the food was already ruined, left to simmer too long. He rummaged through the fridge for leftovers and threw them in a pan instead. He could hear water running in the bathroom, drowning out the sounds of whatever Isa was doing in there. Crying? Talking himself through it? Vomiting? They were all likely possibilities, and Lea wished he knew which one it was so he could react accordingly. All he wanted was to go in there and let Isa cry on his chest, or hold his hair back if he was throwing up after all, just to _do_ something.

He went back to the family room instead, turning another lock without even thinking. He stacked and lined up everything on the coffee table, then aggressively neatened all the pillows on the couch and chair. Only when he’d finished making the room look like a show home did his brain start to slow down and remind him of his priorities.

He took his phone out of his pocket and immediately dropped it. He picked it up and fumbled again, swearing at himself as he dropped it on the carpet a second time. He tried not to get worked up, picturing how Isa would react instead. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out, and slowly reached for his phone, making sure he closed his fingers around it before trying to pick it up. He dialed and waited, managing another full breath before his call was answered.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m driving. Can I call you back in five?”

“Um…no.”

“What is it? Hang on a sec.” Lea waited while his mother got her bearings, pulling off the road and parking before she said, “Okay. What’s up?”

“I just, uh…Brandt just kinda showed up here.”

“_What_?” Catherine asked, and Lea knew from her tone that her seatbelt was the only thing keeping her from jolting to her feet. “Where? At your apartment?”

“Yeah. I guess the restraining order’s up.”

“Is he still there?”

“No.”

Catherine took a deep breath and let it out forcefully, negating its intended effect. “_Shit_,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s been that long already.”

“I know.”

“But still. What kind of sick—I mean, has he just been waiting around for it to expire, or what?”

“I dunno.”

She reeled her anger back a bit, hearing the unusual terseness in her son’s voice. “Did you call the police?”

“No. I pretended to, just to get him to leave.”

“Smart. He didn’t do anything, did he? Where’s Isa? Is he with you?”

“He’s kinda…I dunno. I mean, yeah, he’s here. He’s okay, I think. We just…really weren’t expecting this.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds, not sure what words of comfort they could give each other. “Do you want me to come over?” Catherine asked. “I’m not far. I could be there in ten minutes. Eight if I’m a total hypocrite and drive above the speed limit.”

Lea felt his heart break a little, not realizing that was exactly what he wanted until she offered. “Nah,” he made himself say, “we’re okay. Just kinda shaken up.”

“All right…well, if he shows up again, do _not_ open the door. Don’t even talk to him. Just call the police.”

“Will do. And hey, be careful going home, all right? I don’t know what his deal is. Seemed like he only came here for Isa, but…y’know. He hates us, too.”

“Don’t worry. If he didn’t scare me in my twenties, he’s not going to scare me in his sixties.” Lea snorted, and she added, “You did good, kiddo. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Lea heard the shower handle squeak and the water cut off. “Hey, sorry, we were just about to have dinner.”

“No worries. Just _please_ call me tomorrow?”

“I will. Love ya.”

“Love you.”

Lea put his phone back in his pocket carefully, listening hard, but there was no sound from the bathroom, and when he glanced into their room, the door was still closed. He returned to the kitchen, moving dinner to the back burner and looking for something else to do. It was Thorn’s pitiful and apologetic whine that finally reminded him of her existence, and he went to the family room again to give her some overdue attention.

She was standing at the door, back hunched, hind legs a little shaky. “Hey, sweetie,” Lea said, getting her tail to wag apprehensively as he used his most soothing and familiar tone of voice. “Don’t worry. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. And if he does…well, I’m the guard dog in this house.” He rubbed her ear, but she whined again, nervously scratching the door, and Lea grabbed his coat and went across the room for her leash. On his way back, he finally noticed the soiled spot on the carpet where Thorn had been standing throughout the confrontation.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, making a quick detour to the kitchen for the cleaner. He sprayed the carpet thoroughly and laid some paper towels down to soak up the mess before clipping Thorn’s leash on. “Sorry, girl,” he said quietly, undoing the locks again to take her out. She seemed even more nervous to be outdoors, staring down the road and twitching at every sound, and Lea tried not to do the same.

When they returned, Isa was back in the family room, looking for them. “Sorry,” Lea said again as he unclipped the leash and let Thorn go to him. “Had to take her out for a few minutes.”

Isa knelt down to greet her, petting her with an absent look in his eyes despite her wagging tail and attempts to lick his chin. He glanced at Lea when he crouched down to clean up the paper towels. “Did she throw up again?”

“Nah. Just had a little accident.” Lea gathered everything and brought it to the kitchen to throw away, washing his hands while Isa and Thorn followed slowly. “I’ll call the vet tomorrow morning, though. Whatever’s been going on with her can’t’ve been helped by all this.”

Isa nodded vacantly, and while Lea understood his reaction, it was disheartening. It had been so long since Isa acted this way that Lea couldn’t remember how to proceed. Last time, the adults had taken the lead. This time, Lea _was_ the adult, and he settled on the only tried and true method he knew.

“Well…I had to improvise a little with dinner, but it should be ready, if you want…”

Isa glanced at the stove, then silently started getting the plates and silverware while Lea grabbed the food. He filled Thorn’s dish before setting the table, but she only had a few bites before returning to Isa’s side, resting her chin on his leg as he tried to eat.

Lea struggled to figure out how to address his concerns without forcing Isa to talk about them. Eventually, he said, “Hey…I _will_ call the police, if you want. In the moment, I just wanted to get him out of here, but if you think we should…”

Isa nodded again, scratching Thorn’s head while he nudged his food around with his fork.

“I mean, I know he didn’t legally do anything wrong, but it’s gotta be worth it to make a report, right?”

Isa slowly stopped nodding, as if he were only now hearing what Lea had said. He looked up. “Why _didn’t_ you call them?”

Lea shrugged. “Trying out that whole ‘defusing’ thing, I guess. I thought the priority should be to get rid of him, and we could figure out how to handle it from there.” After a moment, he added, “Plus, I didn’t want the cops coming over, just in case I ended up killing him.”

Isa paused, then gave him a very small, restrained smile before going back to his meal. He chewed slowly and thoughtfully, and it occurred to Lea that this was how almost everyone else saw Isa: stoic, withdrawn, almost monosyllabic. It was their version of a normal Isa, but Lea couldn’t help feeling like he was dining with a doppelgänger.

Isa gave up on dinner soon enough, turning his full attention to Thorn. He held her face in one hand, stroking it with the other. She blinked every time he touched her head, then opened her eyes again to stare at him, her gaze quiet and imploring, wondering why there was an aura of fear and discomfort around her humans that was even stronger than her own.

If Lea were being honest, the entire “aura” of the apartment had worsened with Brandt’s presence, and it had been pretty unfriendly to begin with, all their unresolved little arguments still polluting the atmosphere of their home. Lea was already having trouble remembering what they had been about. Work? Chores? _Thorn_? It felt like the only reason they’d fought was to precipitate Brandt’s arrival, the same way animals could sense natural disasters, kicked into a frenzy by an imminent storm. _Or maybe you were just being a dick today_, Lea thought as he made himself finish at least half his meal.

The silence persisted, and Lea wished he could magically know what to do and what not to do so Isa wouldn’t have to expend precious energy telling him. _Dishes_, he thought. _I’ll definitely do the dishes. But shit, he _likes_ doing dishes. He actually hates it when I do them because I ‘load the dishwasher wrong,’ whatever that means. It’s supposed to do the work for you. If you have to scrub and rinse and line everything up in a specific way, is it really saving time? Might as well do it all by hand at that point._

“Lea?”

Lea put his internal quandary on hold and realized that Isa was staring blankly at him. But he had two types of blank staring: the controlled, guarded blankness, and the open, inquisitive blankness. And thank god, it was the latter.

When Lea raised his eyebrows questioningly, Isa drew his together in concern. “Are you all right?”

“…yeah?”

“You look like you have something on your mind.” Isa laid his silverware down and lined the placemat up with the edge of the table, creating a semblance of control and order before he went on. “I know how it can be, dealing with him,” he said gently. “And he was really in fine form with you tonight. Do you want to talk about it?”

Lea stared, refusing to accept the backward reality that Isa was trying to play therapist with him over this. But Isa was waiting for a response, so Lea blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Okay, be absolutely honest with me. If I insisted on doing the dishes tonight, would that reduce your stress, or add to it?”

Isa stared back for a few seconds, just long enough for Lea to hear how ridiculous he sounded. And then, miracle of miracles, Isa pressed his lips together in a suppressed smile. After ensuring that he wouldn’t laugh, he simply said, “I’ll wash; you dry.”

They brought everything back to the sink, and Lea tried to think of ways to engage Isa in conversation while also keeping the tension low. He was all too aware as they stood together at the counter that they’d been snapping at each other in that same spot just over an hour ago. Once they finished cleaning, Lea said, “Hey…whatever you want to do tonight…if you wanna talk, I’m here. If you wanna go down to the station, or if you just want me to leave you alone for a while…?”

Isa looked as if making that decision was robbing him of the few vestiges of energy he had left. Lea waited patiently, thinking, _If he says he wants to be left alone, I’ll do it, but _please_ don’t let him say it_. Finally, Isa closed his eyes, rubbing them briefly. “Police reports are enough of a headache during the day,” he said. “Besides, I don’t want to leave Thorn alone right now. He upset her, too.” Lea nodded, and Isa, sounding hopelessly tired, added, “I just want to go to bed.”

While that plan was more than fine by Lea, it wasn’t so easy to fall back into their nightly routine. Lea finished locking the front door, only to unlock it again when Isa reminded him that Thorn still needed to go out one more time. Lea cleaned the kitchen while they were outside, and he glanced at the window automatically as he passed by. Thorn seemed better, but even from a distance, Lea could tell Isa’s body language was on the defensive. There was a wary lean to his stance, not his usual perfect posture, and he kept casting glances down the street, so fleeting that he probably didn’t notice he was doing it.

Things started to feel more normal when they returned, as if they were forcing their life back into place by going through the motions. Isa had only one flash of panic when he realized that they needed to call Catherine, though Lea took care of that quickly by assuring him that he already did. The sheer relief on Isa’s face brought relief to Lea as well, and it was the final catalyst that allowed them to fully settle back into their routine.

“It’s just _crazy_,” Lea said around his toothbrush before spitting so he could enunciate better. “We’ve been married for nine fucking years. He _knows_ we’ve been together since we were, like, fifteen. And I’m _still_ ‘the friend’ or ‘the roommate.’”

“Well, that’s nothing new,” Isa said, trying to arrange Thorn’s blanket at the foot of the bed and patiently directing her back to the floor when she leapt on top of it. “He’s always been that way. He always will be. Don’t let it get to you.”

“I’m not,” Lea said, emerging from the bathroom and trying to wrestle his shirt off in annoyance. “You know I don’t give a flaming fuck what he thinks.”

Isa snorted at the truth of that statement as much as the phrasing. “It just pisses me off,” Lea went on as he rummaged through the dresser for pajamas. “Whenever he says shit like that, it always falls back on _you_. He tries to insult me, but all I hear is that he doesn’t take his own kid’s life seriously, and he never fucking will.” He threw his clothes into the hamper and pulled the covers back, then paused when Isa reminded him not to go to bed angry. Lea took a deep, slightly ineffective breath, but he let it out twice as slowly before climbing into bed. He watched Isa help Thorn get situated, laying her stuffed rabbit down for her to rest her chin on, and that sight alone melted his remaining anger away.

When Isa finally joined him, Lea turned on the TV and found some old black and white movies for background noise. They lay there for a while, side by side with Thorn curled peacefully at Isa’s feet, and during a commercial break, Lea said, “You okay?”

Isa stared at the screen until his gaze drifted slightly downward, focusing on nothing in particular. “Not really.”

Lea carefully tucked Isa’s hair behind his ear. His heart ached when he saw the conflicted look on Isa’s face, knowing that he was withdrawing into memories that were too old for them to share. “Wanna talk?”

Isa shrugged, still staring ahead. “It doesn’t seem worth it until it sinks in. Right now, it just feels like a nightmare.”

“I know. Same here.”

Isa nodded slowly. “…it’s surreal to be reminded of all this. I spent years of my life as a human stress ball for him. I was proud of it, even as a child. I just thought that was what love was. If I’d known then that I would eventually graduate to human punching bag…”

Lea reached up into Isa’s hair, massaging the back of his head gently with his fingertips until Isa shut his eyes and moved closer. Lea waited for Isa to lean against him fully before he said, “Honestly…I thought he was gonna try to hit you again.”

“I didn’t. We’re adults now.”

“We’re kids to him.”

Isa snorted. “You are, maybe. I don’t think I was ever a child in his eyes.” Isa let Lea continue playing with his hair, and after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I was worried he would try to hit Thorn.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, he doesn’t know anything about her. But some people can just tell. He would have hit her because she would never fight back.” Lea lowered his hand and wrapped his arm around Isa, drawing him closer, and Isa rested his head on Lea’s shoulder. “I think that’s why he never got me a dog,” he said, like a mild epiphany. “I’m sure I wasn’t ready for one at the age I started asking. But even as a teenager, it was never ‘the right time.’ I think he was just afraid that if I had a dog…I don’t know. Someone would actually be on my side. Maybe protect me.”

“I think you’re probably right,” Lea agreed. “And if he was worried about that, he could’ve at least gotten you, like, a chihuahua or something.”

“Oh, yes. Nothing to ease your mind about having a gay son like watching him take his pet chihuahua for a walk around Radiant Garden.”

Lea laughed in spite of himself. “Point taken.”

They sat quietly for a while, Lea running his fingers up and down Isa’s arm, and Isa leaning against him, trying to relax. As the film drew to a close, Lea said, “Hey…I know neither of us wanted to be in this situation. But you handled it really well. I mean, you didn’t miss a beat.” Isa nodded vaguely, and Lea shrugged with one shoulder to avoid jostling him. “Gets a little easier now that we’re older, I guess.”

Isa slowly stopped nodding as he considered this. “It isn’t any easier to talk back to him,” he decided. “It’s just harder to stay quiet.”

Lea squeezed Isa’s shoulders, kissing the top of his head and staying there for a long moment. Isa, having said all he could manage for one night, slid his arms around Lea’s waist and settled in. He ignored the pillows on his side of the bed, opting to lay his head on Lea’s chest as another dated movie began to play. It wasn’t one that Lea enjoyed, even as background noise, but he forced himself to sit through it. He refused to drift off until Isa was sound asleep in his arms, and even then, his body never let him fall into a sleep too deep to be disturbed by the rap of knuckles, a furtive footstep, or the jostle of a doorknob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the timeless words of Chief Wiggum: "This is gonna get worse before it gets better."


	10. Are You Angry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, this is longer than I realized.  
Anyway..."enjoy."
> 
> Characters: the Higanbana crew, but mostly Lea and Isa.

The next morning, Lea took Thorn on a gentle walk around the block while Isa showered and made breakfast. They sat together at the table, Thorn once again returning to Isa’s side after scarfing down her own food. “Managed to get her an appointment for this afternoon,” Lea said. “I’ll take her, if you want. Got the whole day pretty much free.”

“I can do it.”

Lea nodded, and he waited until they finished their meal before he said, “So…when d’you wanna go to the station? Before the vet’s would probably be best. I don’t think filing a report will take long, but if we want to see about renewing the restraining order…”

Isa rose from his chair, gathering both their dishes and silverware and bringing them to the sink. He let the water heat up and started to rinse everything off while Lea watched with blank confusion. “…Isa?”

Isa shook excess water off his plate and put it in the dishwasher, then paused. “I think—” He picked up the next plate, rinsing it more slowly this time. “…maybe I won’t go.”

“…oh?”

“I just don’t feel like it’s worth it to go through that whole process again.”

“Are you sure? I mean…he showed up out of nowhere. What if he tries to do something worse next time?”

“If he wanted to do anything, he could have done it last night. He knows now that we won’t hesitate to take action.” Isa put the next dish on the rack and glanced at Lea. “Unfortunate as it is, I know him. I really don’t think there will _be_ a ‘next time.’”

“Heh…gotta say, I wish I could share your confidence.” Lea scratched the back of his head, looking aside. “I just…I dunno. I feel like we need to _do_ something about this. Common sense doesn’t matter to him. The only thing that works is actual, legal consequences.”

“I’m not telling you not to go. If you want to file a report, then you should.”

“…you’re not gonna come with me?”

“Do you need me to?” Isa asked, moving on to the glassware.

“Well…no.” Isa shrugged. “…all right. Guess I’ll…see you in a while, then.” Lea stood and pushed his chair in, giving Thorn a scratch on the head. “The vet appointment’s at one, by the way. And give Ma a call sometime soon?”

“All right. Thanks.” Isa finished rinsing the dishes, and Lea grabbed his coat before making the trek down to the police station alone.

* * *

A few days later, Isa awoke in the early hours of the morning. He wondered as he lay there if it was his own breathing that had woken him, deep but quick. His lungs and nervous system were the only parts of him that felt alive, frantically transmitting signals up and down a body that refused to obey them. He had one arm wrapped around his torso, pinned between his ribs and the mattress. There was a cold feeling in his chest, somehow both airy and wet. He wanted to close his eyes, but it was a long time—minutes, hours?—before he could. He was stuck staring at the window until he could control his breath again, and then his head, and then the rest.

Very carefully, he turned over so he was facing Lea. Isa had never understood how he could sleep the way he did, sprawled on his back. He’d tried it himself once or twice, but he always felt too exposed. It made symptoms like these worse, though apparently they came back to haunt him even when he slept on his side, legs bent, arms crossed over his stomach. He felt as if his mind were racing with his heart, and he took another deep breath to feed them both the oxygen they were convinced they were running out of.

He’d hoped to have outgrown this particular torment by now. His thoughts were threatening to eat a hole in his brain, and he scanned the room to ground himself. Sounds were unreliable, but colors were good, even in the dark. _Gold comforter_, he recited in his head. _Black television. Beige walls. White ceiling. Brown fur. Red hair_.

He could reassure himself all he wanted, but he was too awake to fall asleep again. He'd been too awake before he’d even woken up. And the longer he lay there, the clearer it became that he was waiting for Lea—in the depths of slumber—to magically _sense_ that something was wrong. As teenagers, Isa’s nighttime panic had woken Lea with a sudden gasp, or a spasm of his leg. In adulthood, his panic was steely and self-contained, not spreading to Lea at all and only momentarily disturbing Thorn. If Isa wanted comfort, he would have to reach out and wake Lea up himself to get it.

He rolled over again and got out of bed, putting a bathrobe on against the cold and heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

* * *

Lea didn’t comment on Isa’s disrupted routine and midnight ventures to the kitchen and family room, if he noticed them at all. He gave Isa space, and Isa did the same, still crossing paths with each other but missing something in their daily interactions.

It was nearly a week before it occurred to Lea that they might be fighting. When he brought it up to Isa, he seemed surprised, but he quickly agreed that it was most likely the case. They decided—with some embarrassment that it had taken them this long—to sit and talk. “I remember being better at this when we were kids,” Lea said, gesturing for Isa to have a seat on the couch before joining him.

“Well, our arguments were stupider back then,” Isa replied, getting a brief snicker from Lea, both of them relieved that they weren’t fighting badly enough to be without humor. “Do you want to go first?”

“Sure,” Lea said. “I mean, honestly…I’m not even sure what we’re fighting about. ‘Cause we were already fighting before he came here. And then he showed up, made everything worse—as usual—and left. And now things just feel…off.” Isa nodded slowly. “I just…really fucking hate him. I know I don’t have to tell you that, but still. It’s crazy how little has changed.”

“Believe me, I know. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to see him again. And it was eye-opening. After all this time, he still has nothing in his life. It’s just…sad.”

“You feel _bad_ for him?”

“Yes. I think the way he lives is horrible, and sometimes I think that could have just as easily been me.”

“I don’t think that at all,” Lea said firmly. “You knew that wasn’t what you wanted, and you got away. You made a life of your own.”

Isa shrugged. “Regardless, it’s sad to see. He’s always been miserable, and he always will be. And I’m happy, more or less.”

“You’re not happy now, though.”

“Well, no. Obviously not.”

“…can I do anything to make you happy?”

Isa gave the question honest consideration. “No,” he decided. “Not right now.” Lea had figured as much, but he looked disheartened by the answer. Isa scooted a little closer and reached up into his hair, ruffling it softly. “It’ll come back.”

Lea closed his eyes while Isa raked his fingertips up through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re allowed to hate him, you know.”

“I know,” Isa said quietly, spreading his fingers and smiling as Lea instinctively leaned into his touch. “It’s enough just to know that.”

Lea tilted his head until it rested on Isa’s shoulder. “Well, don’t worry. I hate him enough for both of us. And if you change your mind and want me to go punch his lights out, just say the word.”

Isa scratched Lea’s hair for a few more seconds, then rubbed his back briskly to warn him that he was about to stand up. He gave Lea a brief kiss on the top of his head before he went to the kitchen to start making dinner. Lea reclined against the couch, letting his hair stay disheveled, reflecting on their conversation and wondering if it really was this easy to resolve their fights these days.

* * *

It wasn’t. Their apartment life started falling back into its usual routine, but whatever they were suppressing at home started to creep into the workplace, and it showed.

Aside from Isa and Lea’s intermittent and curt conversations, everyone was having a fairly enjoyable Monday afternoon. Demyx lost a candy cane shoot-out to Braig, who mimed blowing smoke off the tip of the “pistol” before spinning it around his finger and reholstering it on his belt. When Demyx finished dying from his imaginary gunshot wound, he picked himself up off the floor and made his way to Ienzo’s table.

Even Dilan loosened up a bit, joining the younger pair as Demyx once again tried to teach Ienzo how to spin a dreidel. “I don’t know how you’re managing _not_ to learn this,” Demyx laughed. “It’s like you’ve got the world’s shittiest superpower.”

“Dexterity isn’t exactly—” Ienzo raised his hands as the top went skittering off the table and across the floor, then lowered them more calmly as Demyx got up to retrieve it. “…my strong suit.”

“It’s really not that difficult,” Dilan said. “It’s just a matter of practicing the individual motions, then stringing them together into a single gesture.”

“Thanks. That’s very helpful.” Dilan raised his eyebrow at Ienzo’s tone while Aeleus crossed the room for a piece of tape to hold up an errant strand of garland.

“Maybe a demonstration would be better,” he suggested, nodding at Dilan when Ienzo looked up. “Did you know Dilan can juggle?”

“No,” Ienzo said, glancing curiously at Dilan, who now gave Aeleus the same flat look he’d given the boy.

“I don’t think that’s going to help him learn how to spin a dreidel,” Dilan said, and Aeleus shrugged.

“It won’t make him any worse. No offense, Ienzo. Besides, we could use some entertainment here,” he added, treading carefully past the table where Lea was sitting.

Dilan shook his head, less at Aeleus for putting him on the spot and more at himself for acquiescing so easily. He looked around for something to juggle, ignoring Braig when he held up three full beer bottles, but accepting his much more reasonable offer of limes. He took two in each hand but only started with three, adding the fourth when he was accustomed to their weight.

Demyx applauded, and Ienzo raised his eyebrows, unspokenly but officially impressed. After a minute or so, Braig said, “Think fast,” and tossed another lime into the mix. There was a flash of instinctive panic in Dilan’s eyes, but training and focus snuffed it out. He took a step back and managed to catch the fifth lime, adding it to the rotation without missing a beat and giving Braig little more than a dry glare. “Nice, man!” Demyx said, and Braig whistled in approval.

They were having a moderately good time, and Ienzo had even started to get the hang of the dreidel when Isa emerged from the back. “Watch out—fun police,” Braig said, while Dilan caught the limes and put them back on the counter. But Isa barely glanced at them as he went to his podium to grab a folder. On his way back, Braig said, “Making sure you’ve docked us all a break, Blue?”

“I think you’re capable of managing your own time, Gray.”

Braig snorted. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever take that bait.”

“We’re keeping to the schedule,” Dilan assured Isa. “Don’t worry. Everything’s on track for tonight.”

“I don’t care. Just as long as it all gets done.”

As Isa disappeared through the back door, Braig called after him, “You can tone it down a bit, Jack Frost. It’s cold enough out here already.”

“_You_ wanna tone it down, Braig?” Lea asked. “You don’t get paid extra for pissing everybody off.”

“Hey, the rest of us are having a delightful time, as far as I can tell. You two are the only ones who aren’t exactly walking in a winter wonderland these days.”

Lea scowled, but Aeleus added, in a much more considerate tone, “You know, Lea…it might not be my place to say, but this has been going on for a while now. Whatever the problem is, it might not hurt to take an evening off and…I dunno. Talk it out, or something? I mean, this place isn’t really conducive to discussion.”

Lea gazed up at him from where he sat, arms crossed and eyes dull, before he took a deep breath and sighed, looking down again. “Yeah…you’re right, Aeleus,” he said. “It’s _not_ your place.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Dilan stared uncomprehendingly at the back of Lea’s head, and when Aeleus got over his surprise, he decided to stay out of his coworker’s business from now on, rather than repeat his mistake of honestly trying to help. He returned to the edge of the bar to fix the drooping garland, and Braig snorted as he came around to hand him the tape.

“Man, and we thought Snow Miser was feeling snippy,” he said, giving Aeleus an oddly commiserating pat on the shoulder. He took the long way back to the counter, and Lea looked up with weariness and spite when he passed by.

“Why don’t you fuck off, Braig?” Braig paused a couple steps away.

“Somethin’ _bothering_ you today, sunshine?” he asked, turning around to face Lea. “And if so, you wanna try making it your problem instead of everyone else’s?”

“You _are_ everyone else’s problem,” Lea snapped. “Maybe do your fucking job without annoying the shit out of people for once?”

“Ooh, here we go. A lecture on work ethic from the guy who doesn’t start his shift for—” Braig checked his watch, then lowered his hand, placing it on the table. “—_six_ _hours_, and when he does, it’ll involve peacocking around the stage for all of ten minutes.”

“You’re not gonna get anywhere trying to insult me, so you might as well drop it,” Lea said, nonetheless leaning back slightly when Braig put more weight on his arm. “Just get off Isa’s case for one fucking day.”

Whether it was the excessive swearing or being told what to do, Braig wasn’t put in an agreeable frame of mind. “You know, no one would _need_ to bother him if you weren’t trying to stir up trouble. This is a _workplace conflict_ you’re dragging me into. Why don’t we invite him out here to mediate? He loves bureaucratic time-wasters like this—can only improve his mood at this point.”

“I’m not kidding, Braig. Leave him alone. And back off.”

“Or what?”

Lea glared up at him, and Braig’s deceptive smile wasn’t quite deceptive enough to hide the glint in his eye. While Lea’s anger was like the strike of a match, igniting with just the right amount of friction, Braig’s was like the strike of a snake: not without warning, but so swift and precise that there was no time to guard against it.

“Hey, guys,” Demyx called from Ienzo’s table. “Seriously. Cool it.”

But they were fire and venom, working at their own paces and unable to be cooled. Braig was in no way restraining Lea, but Lea couldn’t stand up without putting himself in Braig’s space. He was gripped by the sudden panic of having no exit strategies, of an industrial-sized dumpster looming behind him and fire escapes drawn out of reach on either side. The feeling of being a teenager again, paired with the image of Braig standing at the entrance of an alley, and the smell of cigarette smoke as it left his grinning mouth in a quiet gust, or rose in a fine, twisting ribbon above his head.

Lea reached up and shoved him with both hands, half catharsis and half fearful instinct, wanting nothing more in that moment than the immediate termination of whatever threat Braig posed. Braig swiped Lea’s arms aside twice as hard and far more viciously than was warranted, and Lea, reverting to the same old patterns of every fight he’d ever been in, escalated rather than retreated. His glare brightened as he grabbed Braig, who did the same, hauling Lea to his feet so fast that his chair toppled over.

Before they could do more than regain their footing, Aeleus was reaching between them with a firm, “Hey—_enough_.” He separated them easily, though each of them still held the front of the other’s shirt in his fist. Their anger was at its peak, but Aeleus was a rock, immune to both fire and venom, defusing the scuffle with his sheer grounding presence.

Before Dilan could step in to help, Isa was out on the floor again, standing just past the doorway as he took in the scene. Braig and Lea kept their distance, but they were still too riled up to let each other go, even with Aeleus pushing them apart. Isa was about to ask something like, “What on earth do you think you’re doing,” or even, “Seriously, what is _wrong_ with you two?” But when he saw both Demyx and Ienzo on their feet as well—the latter standing a few steps back, using Demyx of all people as a human shield due to sheer proximity—Isa schooled his face back into a neutral mask. “What’s going on?”

“An argument that got out of hand,” Aeleus said, silently praying that the other two would keep their mouths shut and let him speak for them. “No one was hurt.”

“I see.” Isa regarded them all as impassively as he could. “Lea. Go to the back.”

Lea released Braig, stepping away when Braig did the same. “Of _course_ this is on me.”

“You delivered the first blow, Romeo,” Braig pointed out, tugging his shirt collar back into place. “I was just acting in self-defense.”

“They were antagonizing each other,” Aeleus explained to Isa. “Lea did act first, but Braig, come on. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Thank you, Aeleus,” Isa said, maintaining his procedural tone but also sounding genuinely grateful. “Braig, find something productive or at least productive-looking to do. Lea, go to the break room.”

Lea stormed off to the back, his exit dampened by the swinging door that was physically incapable of slamming behind him. Braig went out to the alley for what was undoubtedly his first smoke break in years, which no one contested. Isa glanced at Demyx and Ienzo, getting a stressed-out sigh from the former and a slightly shaken look from the latter. With a silent sigh of his own, Isa turned and made his way to the break room.

Lea was pacing, not even reaching the opposite wall before turning around and retracing his steps. He looked up when Isa arrived, then down at the floor again, glaring but standing still.

“All right,” Isa said, shutting the door behind him. “You officially have my attention. What the _hell_ was that?”

“Oh, good. _Now_ you’re angry?”

“Yes, Lea, I’m angry. Congratulations. You’re not the only one anymore.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been holding back my anger for_ you_, but apparently it’s the only thing that’s gonna make you respond to me like a fucking person.”

“You call _that_ holding back?” Isa asked, pointing in the general direction of the main floor. “That qualifies as battery, on a _coworker_, on _company_ _property_. We’re just lucky that Braig’s the kind of person who avoids paper trails.”

“Come on, he was being a dick. The last thing you need to be dealing with right now is his bullshit.”

“Dealing with him is part of my job. And frankly, I’m good at it. I don’t need you to protect me from a few tasteless quips, and I think we both know that’s not what you’re doing anyway.”

“Yeah? What am I doing, then? Enlighten me, Freud.”

“_Please_. You’ve been ranting about it ever since he showed up. What, I won’t let you assault my father, so you’re picking fights with Braig instead? Are you just trying to retroactively fix our entire childhood?” Isa paused, studying Lea’s face, which must have held more of a glare than he realized. “…are you holding back your anger _for_ me,” Isa asked slowly, “or _at_ me?”

Lea didn’t answer, and they stared at each other until Isa finally said, “Well…that’s a new one.”

“I’m angry at Braig,” Lea said, far too late to be convincing. “And _him_. Not you.”

“I think you have enough to go around,” Isa replied. “You’ve been getting into arguments with everyone lately. If you’re angry at me, then _be_ angry at me. Don’t take it out on them.”

Lea looked across the room, chewing the inside of his lip and nodding at nothing in particular. “Aeleus suggested I take the night off,” he said. “How would you feel about that?”

“Well, it’s my night off, too.”

“I know. That’s why I asked.”

Isa looked him over, noting how the silent admission of his anger seemed to have taken the fight out of him for now. “It’s fine with me. It’s probably a good idea, to be honest.”

“Great,” Lea said, heading for the door, though he paused just before he passed Isa. “May I be excused?” he asked, gratingly compliant. Isa gave him a lukewarm glare before sending him back out to the floor.

Braig was behind the counter again, rubbing his hands to warm them back up. Before Lea left, Isa directed him to the bar, insisting on an official exchange of apologies.

“You’re shitting me,” Lea said flatly.

“My sole concern is avoiding a lawsuit,” Isa replied. “You don’t have to mean it. You just have to say it.”

Braig held out his hand. “Sorry, kiddo,” he said, apologizing with the utter ease of someone who was convinced he’d done nothing wrong.

“Screw you,” Lea said, going to the door to grab his coat. Braig withdrew his hand, calling out, “Anytime,” as Lea left without a backward glance.

“…how much munny would it take for you to accept that as an apology?” Isa asked, and Braig chuckled.

“Consider the matter closed. He’s not comin’ back, is he?”

“He’s taking the night off.”

“Can’t say I’ll miss him. Though the stage might.”

“No worries,” Demyx said, with forced brightness in his voice. “Up To Eleven’s always available. We could use the cash, anyway. If that’s cool, Isa?”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh, man,” Braig laughed. “If Lea’s a peacock, you’re…I dunno. A penguin?”

“Hey, penguins are rad, dude,” Demyx insisted. “You ever seen those macaroni penguins? _Adorable_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a couple of awkward birds that can’t even fly.”

“Peacocks can fly,” Ienzo piped up. Braig gave him a skeptical look as he tried to figure out whether to trust this bit of trivia, especially coming from Ienzo.

“Nah,” he finally decided.

“Yes, they can. And only the males are called peacocks. The females are peahens. The collective term is ‘peafowl’—and yes, all of them can fly.”

“The hell are you, some kinda bird expert now?”

“It’s common knowledge, Braig,” Ienzo said in a practiced know-it-all tone, which earned him a petty look from Braig, but also distracted him enough for Isa to slip back to his office and gather his things. He returned shortly, telling everyone to call him if there were any issues and thanking them in advance for handling everything that evening. After checking in with Dilan and Aeleus, he departed, marking the first time ever that he was reluctant to leave work in order to spend the night at home with his husband.

* * *

Isa ran some tactical but necessary errands to postpone returning to the apartment. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he got back, but he was surprised to see Lea sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of food before him. While Isa couldn’t exactly fault him for not waiting, coming home to see Lea already halfway through his meal stung a little more than he would have anticipated.

Still, Lea slowed down and gave Isa a chance to put together his own plate and take a seat. They ate without speaking until the end of their disjointed meal, when Isa said, “What’s going on?”

Lea sighed, as if he were already tired of the ensuing discussion. “I dunno,” he said, buying himself time to get his thoughts together. “I’m just…really pissed off lately.”

“Are you angry at me?”

“I’m angry at _him_.”

“…are you angry at _me_?”

Lea tried to look at Isa, but he looked at his plate again before he could truly meet his gaze. “If I am, I don’t want to be. I don’t think I even have a reason to be.”

“And avoiding me while picking fights with everyone else is supposed to help?”

“I don’t know. All right? I don’t know how to fix this.”

Lea put his silverware down and slouched in his chair. Isa looked at his own plate and decided he’d had enough, setting his silverware down as well. “I think we should try talking again.”

“We’re just gonna end up fighting.”

“Then I think we should try fighting.” Isa rose from his chair and pushed it in, standing behind it while he waited for Lea’s verdict. Lea stared at him, looking exhausted and a little heartbroken, before he finally dragged himself to his feet and let Isa lead him out to the family room.

They took a seat on the couch, keeping a couple feet of space between them. “So,” Isa began. “Why are you mad at me?”

Lea rested his elbows on his knees, lowering his head to rub the back of his neck. “I dunno. ‘m not sure if I even _am_ mad at you. It just feels like I’m the only one who’s mad at all. I’m ranting to myself while you’re just shutting down.”

“I’m not shutting down. I’m just…not angry.”

“Well, whatever. That’s not the point. Either way, it’s like I’m out here alone.”

“You’re not alone. You know that.”

Lea turned his head to give Isa a scathing look. “You want me to tell you how I’m feeling, or not?”

Isa set his jaw, not liking the attitude but accepting the point. Lea rubbed his neck for a few more seconds, then scratched the back of his hair roughly, sitting up straighter.

“It _feels_ like I’m out here alone,” he repeated. “I’ve always had your back when it comes to him, ever since we were kids. I was super careful whenever he was around, I did whatever you wanted me to when I came over—”

“I didn’t _want_ you to do any of that—”

“Isa, I _know_.” Lea slouched again, elbows back on his knees and fingers pressed to his eyes. “What I’m saying is…we went through so many years of that, and I put up with it because I figured someday we wouldn’t need to anymore. But all he has to do is show up, and we’re right back to accommodating him and tiptoeing around him.” He chewed the inside of his cheek for a second. “I wasn’t even gonna bring this up,” he said, which made Isa feel as if he were being preemptively blamed not only for what Lea was about to say, but also for the fact that he was going to say it at all. “But I _told_ him he wasn’t coming inside, under any circumstances. And then you went ahead and invited him in. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Isa didn’t have an answer for that. “You know I’m in your corner,” Lea went on, “but this is our _home_. I think I should get a say in whether someone who’s assaulted my husband gets to set foot here. But whatever—you told him off, I had your back. We took care of it. And after all that, you wouldn’t even go down to the station with me for, what, half an hour?”

“I didn’t feel it was necessary,” Isa replied. “If you had asked me to go with you—”

“Oh, bullshit, like I’m gonna ask you to walk me down there like a little kid. _Obviously_ I wanted you to come with me. I still don’t know why you didn’t. If he _does_ try anything in the future, at least we’ll have started a paper trail. What’s the downside?”

“I don’t want to constantly wonder what horrible thing might be waiting for me down the line. I’m tired of it. I’m done with him, and from what I can see, he’s done with us. Can’t we just focus on living our lives?”

“You want to just move on and forget? He doesn’t. He’s not gonna let you.”

“_You_ aren’t letting me,” Isa shot back. “We haven’t heard from him or seen him since he showed up here. For all we know, he’s gone for good. And yet here we are, weeks later, still fighting about it.”

“That’s what I’m saying. One little visit, and he upends our entire life. If we just filed for another restraining order, we could nip that problem in the bud. We wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Sure. For another ten years. And then what? We get caught in a cycle of filing restraining orders forever? Measuring our lives in ten-year increments until they expire? I’m not living like that with you, Lea. Not to mention that if we get another restraining order, he’ll know where we live at all times. We want our own house someday, don’t we? Imagine moving out of here, moving somewhere that’s _ours_, where he doesn’t know how to find us. _That_ is what I want.”

“I know. And you know I want that, too. But right now, this just feels…passive. He can show up here whenever he wants, and we’re not supposed to do anything?”

“Well, what would you like to do, Lea? Punch him? Because I’ll be honest, I’m beyond sick of hearing about that.”

“Never seemed to bother you before. Hell, I _very_ recently punched someone for you, and your response was to give me a raise. You think this guy, of all people, doesn’t deserve to be socked in the face?”

“You realize that was his justification for hitting me, don’t you? Because I was wrong, because I needed to be put back in line, and I deserved to be hit?”

“Are you shitting me? This isn’t the same at _all_.”

“Defending yourself in the moment is one thing. Telling me you have premeditated thoughts about hitting my father in the face because you _want to_ is another. I understand that you’re angry, but if you could find a way to _use_ that anger productively instead of misdirecting it at coworkers or ranting about the past—I mean, these are the same points you’ve been making for years. Ever since we were children, I’ve had to listen to you talk about how much you hate him and how badly you want to ‘knock his block off,’ or however you put it.”

“Yeah, and why do you think I’ve been saying this shit since I was a kid? You’re not the only one whose childhood was fucked up by this guy. I mean, I couldn’t even _hug_ you in his house. I couldn’t sleep over, I couldn’t wear a fucking skirt. It’s not like I walked in with a bedazzled crop top that said ‘I’m gonna suck your son’s dick.’”

Normally, that might have gotten Isa to at least restrain some laughter or fight back a smile, but it didn’t take. Lea sighed. “I know you bore the brunt of it, and I’m sorry,” he said. “If I could have traded places with you, I would’ve in a heartbeat. I just wish I could’ve _done_ something.”

Isa sighed as well, his posture relaxing a bit as he leaned back. “It used to sound protective when you said that. Now it just sounds like you’re blaming me for holding you back. I know it’s frustrating, and I’m sorry you’re struggling to find an outlet for your anger. But I won’t share it with you. I’m not going to fake emotions just so you can play the knight in shining armor to make yourself feel better.”

“You think that’s what I’m doing?”

“I think you’ve gotten used to that role, yes. I think you’ve been fantasizing about punching him in the face, breaking your hand for the second time this year, and inevitably getting arrested so I have to come bail you out of jail and you get to be the hero.”

“Wow. _That’s_ fair. Yeah, it must’ve really bothered you all those times I had your back and fought off our bullies at school. Obviously I’ve just been doing it to rack up the hero cred, not because, y’know, I fucking hate the idea of anything happening to you.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive. I believe it bothered you that he hurt me, but I also believe it bothered you that you weren’t allowed to do anything back.”

“What was I ever gonna do? I could barely even look at him as a kid, Isa. He scared the hell out of me.”

On some level, this was something Isa must have known all along. But it gave him pause to hear Lea, who had always seemed so fearless, say it aloud. “I never, _ever_ knew anyone like him before we came to Radiant Garden. He was the scariest person I’d ever met.”

“What are you talking about? Someone broke into your house in Traverse Town.”

“Yeah. A _stranger_. And Ma beat the shit out of him, because that’s what parents do. They attack people who threaten their kids, not the kids themselves. Fuck, I mean, you think I’d never heard the kind of shit he said before? My classmates and their parents back in Traverse Town were terrible. But no matter how awful they were to me and Ma, at least the other parents would’ve thrown down to protect their own shitty kids. I didn’t realize until I met your father that a parent could be the one bullying their child.”

Isa nodded. “Well…I suppose that’s where we’re hitting our roadblock, then. You’re used to defending from outside threats.”

“He _is_ an outside threat.”

“He isn’t, Lea. I understand what you’re saying,” Isa added when Lea looked like he was about to protest. “But he isn’t just some stranger. I know him. He knows me.”

“He’s made it _abundantly_ clear that he _doesn’t_.”

“Well, he knows me enough to hit where it hurts.”

“Where’s that?” Lea said, his tone acidic. “The fact that you finally got away from him? Or that your mom chose to have you? Or that you’re gay? None of those things are bad, Isa. The only reason it hurts is because he _hits_ you there.”

Isa closed his eyes to keep his patience. “All I’m saying,” he said slowly, “is that it isn’t the same. He’s not some external factor that you need to protect me from—he’s family.”

Lea felt like he’d been struck to hear that, and then he felt guilty for feeling that way when, of the two of them, Isa was the only one who’d actually been struck before. “No he isn’t,” he said. “You have to find your family, Isa, and you did. You went through hell to get here, and now—what, you’re telling me it doesn’t count? He’ll always be family, and we’ll never get there because we don’t have the same blood or some shit like that?”

“Yes,” Isa said. “Precisely. That’s _exactly_ what I was going to say, Lea. Thank god for your mind-reading abilities.”

Lea glared, but he kept his mouth shut. “You are my family,” Isa said, adding after a moment, “jackass.” Lea’s glare cooled a little but didn’t ease up as he waited for Isa to continue.

“But so is he,” Isa went on, “and that isn’t a fact that goes away. I know you think there’s a straightforward way for me to deal with this, but there isn’t. Believe me, if there were, I would have found it by now.”

“Your feelings might not be straightforward, but there _is_ a straightforward way to deal with this. If you have a tumor, you cut it out. And if it keeps coming back, you slap it with a restraining order. No one has ever treated you worse than he has. Why do we have to dance around that fact instead of just acknowledging it and acting accordingly?”

“Because those aren’t the only memories of him that I have,” Isa said. “Yes, he’s treated me the worst. But he got me the things I wanted for Christmas. He read books to me and took me to the movies when I was a kid. He taught me how to ride a bike.”

“And all of that went out the window when he_ hit _you. _Repeatedly_.”

“I’m not justifying it and I’m not excusing it, Lea. I’m saying that for eight years, he was all I had. This isn’t about whether he was right or wrong, it’s about—”

“He was _wrong_.”

“—how I feel—god, you’re not _listening_—”

“I’m listening. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“It _does_ make sense, regardless of whether you can understand it, and if you—”

Lea sat there for a few seconds, fuming, until he realized Isa wasn’t going to finish his thought. He glanced at him and saw him with his brow furrowed, his judgment redirected toward himself. “What?” Lea asked. Isa shook his head. “What? Say it.”

“No,” Isa said. “It’s out of line.”

Lea raised his eyebrows, curiosity overtaking his frustration. “Say it anyway. We’re already fighting.”

A slight grimace settled on Isa’s face, the words leaving a bitter taste as he held them in his mouth. “Seriously,” Lea said, wanting to feel bad at seeing Isa in such a torn state, but losing patience and sympathy fast. “I’m not gonna be the only asshole here, Isa. If you have something stupid to say, then say it. It’s the least you can do.”

When Isa finally spoke, he did it slowly and deliberately, as if he were reading a line off a page, delivering a message that had come from somewhere other than his own brain. “If you had a father,” he said, refusing to make eye contact, “you’d understand.”

It was a long moment before Isa managed to look up at Lea, feeling a twist in his gut when he saw the floored expression on his face, proof that what he’d said was so beyond the pale that Lea couldn’t even comprehend it enough to be angry. Isa sat where he was, an aura of sickly shame radiating from him. Some small part of Lea wanted to reach out and comfort him, to reassure him until that aura dissipated. But most of his energy was spent on repeating that statement over and over in his head, just the way it had been spoken: in Isa’s voice.

“Okay,” he finally said, as if he were conceding a point. “Yeah. That was out of line.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Isa said, trying to undo not only the words but the thought itself from ever forming in the first place. Lea nodded.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I know. But you said it. And now you’re gonna know how it feels when I get pissed off anyway.” He hauled himself to his feet, and Isa looked almost alarmed to see him walk across the room for his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“No clue,” Lea said, shrugging his coat on and looking for his scarf before deciding to leave without it. “But I think we’re done here, right? I mean, you tell me—you’re the one who wanted to fight tonight. I would’ve been fine with just watching a movie or something.”

“Lea, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well…don’t be. I’m gonna go ahead and storm out for a while, and once I’m gone, you can feel free to think of me as the hotheaded, fatherless, garden variety jackass I am.”

“_Lea_—” Isa tried again, but he was already out the door. Isa sat there and replayed every awful, unproductive bit of that argument, eventually getting stuck in the last minute or so. He realized he was pulling threads from one of the pillows, and he picked it up and threw it to the corner of the couch, mentally cursing himself and wondering how long he’d been doing it without noticing.

He went to the kitchen, gathering everything from their equally disappointing dinner and bringing it to the sink. The hot water and scrape of the spatula taking dried food off the pans and plates distracted him, and he tried to let his thoughts get lost in the steam. That night’s argument, the near-fistfight with Braig, and everything else from the past week or so piled up in his brain instead, smothering every coherent thought but doing nothing to stop the associated emotions from flooding in.

He took a deep, almost involuntary breath and forced himself to exhale slowly, and that pause allowed him to realize just how tightly he was holding the drinking glass in his hand. And he also realized, with mild horror, just how cathartic it might feel to break it on the floor.

He stared at his reflection in the glass: faint, warped, nearly colorless. Then he turned the faucet down to a reasonable temperature, rinsed the glass thoroughly, and put it on the rack. He dried his hands, wincing at the friction of the towel on his scalded skin, and returned to the family room.

He sat on the couch again and slumped, resting his elbows on his knees and rolling his shoulders. The one time he felt truly tense enough to ask for a massage, and the one time he knew he couldn’t. He looked across the room and saw Thorn lying in her corner. She hadn’t been there during the argument—while she was happy enough to spend time with Lea or Isa as individuals, she’d been stealthily room-hopping over the past week to avoid them as a pair. She lay with her tail curled around her, her head on the floor, but her eyes locked on Isa. As soon as he noticed her, her tail started to thump against the carpet, and when he held his hands out, the space between them the perfect fit for her head, she rose to her feet immediately, going to him and letting him pet her over and over again, soothing both of them with the gesture.

It was over two hours before Lea returned, and Isa didn’t ask where he’d gone. They staggered their nightly routines to minimize the amount of path-crossing, and by the time Isa finished getting ready, Lea was already in bed, facing the wall. Isa helped Thorn get situated, which she did quietly, making only one rotation before obediently settling down. With a heavy heart, and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to handle the ensuing silence if he tried to say “good night,” Isa turned off the lights and carefully got into bed without a word.

* * *

The next morning, Isa awoke to the sound of the shower running. He hauled himself out of bed, feeling unrested despite the eight hours of sleep. After he took Thorn outside and gave her breakfast, he tried the bathroom door and found that it was not only closed, but locked.

There was no reason it shouldn’t have been locked, except that it rarely was. Lea normally left the door open while he showered, allowing Isa to brush his teeth and see how disastrous his bedhead was. That morning, Isa sat on the edge of the mattress, waiting his turn. A few minutes after the water cut off, he heard the lock pop, though the door remained closed. He hesitated, not knowing if that was enough of an invitation, and knocked lightly on the door. “Lea?”

A moment later, the door opened, and Lea went back to the sink to finish brushing his teeth. He was fully dressed, his hair still damp but already rising back into its usual spikes. Isa nodded to say thank you and went to the counter, cautiously reaching in front of Lea for the toothpaste.

Lea continued to brush his teeth vigorously, trying to leave as soon as possible, both to spare himself the stress and to give Isa his space. His gaze drifted automatically to Isa’s reflection, and he paused mid-brush. Isa held his toothbrush in his fist, motionless as he stared down at the counter. Lea slowly took his own toothbrush out of his mouth, spitting in the sink before he said, “Isa?”

Isa took a quick breath as if he’d been jolted, in and out shakily through his nose while his mouth drew tight. His eyes looked more awake despite the dark circles beneath them, and when he started to blink, Lea put his toothbrush down. He slid one hand across Isa’s upper back and opened his other arm, whispering, “C’mere.” Isa blindly put his own toothbrush on the counter, already stepping into Lea’s embrace and resting his forehead on his chest. Lea rubbed his back a little mechanically, nowhere near in the mood to get into everything again, but willing to at least mend their latest misstep.

“I didn’t mean it,” Isa said into Lea’s shirt. Lea closed his eyes, already tired again only half an hour after waking up.

“Yeah,” he said—and then, realizing that more reassurance might be needed, he added, “I know.” He rubbed Isa’s back and squeezed him a little tighter before letting go, waiting to make sure he was all right. When Isa dried his eyes and picked up his toothbrush again, avoiding his gaze, Lea accepted that that was the best they could do at the moment, and he took his cue to leave.

* * *

They silently agreed to let the dust settle before they tried discussing anything significant again, and a couple days later, they were refreshed and ready to get back into it. Lea’s anger continued to blaze like a wildfire, while Isa’s roiled like an ocean, deeper than it looked and full of hidden currents. More often than not, they walked away with nothing to show but scorched earth and waterlogged sand, the rough terrain they would simply have to cross again for their next fight.

Nevertheless, they kept trying. It was an otherwise pleasant afternoon that found them embroiled in another argument in the middle of the family room. They remained standing this time. Sitting on the couch had become a silly formality, putting too much pressure on them to be civil instead of honest.

“Before we jump into this, just tell me: are we actually gonna _get_ anywhere this time? Or are you gonna act all high and mighty while I look like a fucking psycho because I’m the only one willing to acknowledge how messed up things are?”

“You’re not the only one who feels crazy, Lea. You think I want to keep having these conversations? It’s exhausting.”

“Oh, you’re _so_ good to put up with me.”

“_Bullshit_,” Isa snapped. “You don’t think for one second that me ‘putting up with you’ is what our relationship is. And you know I don’t see it that way, either.”

“Seems like you’re putting up with me right now.”

“Because you’re being dramatic and hyperbolic.”

“That’s me!” Lea said, holding his arms out to demonstrate. “That’s _literally_ how I’ve been from the day we met. You _know_ that!”

Isa raised one hand to rub his eyes, and then he brought the other up as well, needing both of them to massage his forehead because there was no getting around the fact that Lea was right. “Fine,” he said, dropping his arms back to his sides while Lea did the same. “I’m going to stop nitpicking everything you say when I know you’re not being one hundred percent literal. And _you_? Stop exaggerating just to get a rise out of me.”

“Deal.”

They were left with very little to say to each other after agreeing to those terms, so they spent the rest of the afternoon apart to cool off and get their thoughts in order. Isa took Thorn for a walk, and Lea tried to read a book, then tried to watch TV, and finally ended up taking a long and indulgent shower, which did very little to ease his frustration but at least made the bathroom smell like vanilla and cinnamon for a while.

Their fights had gotten more aggressive lately, but they believed that was a good sign, all things considered. They lacked finesse, but they were getting to the point more quickly, though the point seemed to change from one argument to the next. Still, they were both secretly expecting their fights to resolve like they always did: after a few hours apart, they’d reunite at home, apologize profusely while assuring each other that they didn’t need to apologize for anything, promise to do better, and proceed to some fantastic make-up sex.

Instead, when Isa returned with Thorn, they were even more off-balance than before. They prepared and ate dinner together, knowing that they could resume their conversation at any moment, and also knowing that that open-endedness and sense of responsibility were the exact things that kept them from doing it. When Isa finally decided to just say whatever thought came out of his mouth first, he was more than a little surprised when it ended up being, “You know I love you, right?”

Lea had been lifting his fork, but he froze, staring at Isa as he slowly lowered it back to his plate. “Yeah,” he said, taken aback. He looked conflicted, aware of his own tendency to speak before thinking and trying so hard not to this time. “It just…feels like you don’t like me right now.”

Isa wished he could be more shocked to hear that, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been giving off that impression. He looked at Lea sympathetically and said, “The least I’ve ever liked you is more than I’ve liked anyone else.”

Lea let out a quick, unsmiling laugh as he looked down at his food. “Well…good to know, I guess.” Isa watched him pick at his dinner before returning to his own, and it was almost a full minute before Lea remembered to say, “Love you, too, by the way.”

After dinner, Isa once again proposed that they give talking another shot, and Lea agreed, strangely heartened by their sad but open honesty. They sat on the couch this time, and Isa asked if Lea wanted to start. “Nah, you can go ahead.”

“I really don’t know what to say at this point. I was hoping you'd take the lead.”

Lea fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“I’m gonna sound like a dick.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will. If I’m just honest about it…”

As Lea trailed off, Isa couldn’t help seeing him as a teenager again: always struggling to express his frustration in a way that was both true to his feelings yet sensitive to Isa’s needs, always walking on eggshells to avoid upsetting him. He might have caused or exacerbated many of their communication problems, but in the end, he’d shouldered more than his share of the responsibility for them, too.

“You can tell me whatever you want,” Isa said quietly. “Don’t worry about how it sounds. Just be honest.” When Lea still hesitated, Isa added, “I won’t get angry, and I won’t tell you you’re wrong. I won’t shut down as soon as you’re done. Whatever you say, I’ll try to understand.”

“…even if it sounds awful?”

“Especially if it sounds awful. I promise.”

Lea watched Isa, noticing the pleading look in his eyes and realizing how much it had been weighing on him, to go so long without being able to figure out what he was thinking or feeling. “All right…” he began. “Well, I just…all I wanted—I mean, not _all_ I wanted—but ever since we were kids, I just wanted you to be safe. _I _wanted to keep you safe. And usually I could, but not when it came to him. I hate him, and I don’t know what to do with that anymore. I want to talk about how much I hate him, but _you_ don’t hate him, apparently, so what’s the point? I wanna protect you and it feels like you aren’t letting me, and I don’t know why. And, like…”

He started to hear where he was going and drew back, but Isa said, “Go on.”

Lea steeled his nerves, realizing he’d never quite spoken to Isa the way he was about to, but also realizing that maybe that was part of the problem. “You know…you get on my case whenever I treat you like you’re made of glass. You tell me I’m allowed to get angry and that you aren’t stopping me. But when I do, it just makes everything worse, and you end up closing off. Then _I _close off because I fucked up again. And then you ask why I’m not willing to talk this stuff through.” Lea looked beyond uncomfortable, his eyes starting to shine as he continued to force the words out. “I’ve been trying to talk to you. I’m really _trying_. And I know I’m not doing it the way you want, but I don’t know how else to do it. It’s like you think I just need to rant and get it out of my system, and all you have to do is be a sounding board. But you’re my partner, right? I just wanna feel like you’re here as my husband, not my therapist.”

He trailed off again while Isa, true to his word, sat patiently and listened attentively. Lea scratched the back of his head. “Anyway. I guess that’s it.” Isa nodded slowly, almost to himself. “…you said you wouldn’t just shut down.”

“I know. It’s a lot to process.” Lea fought back the urge to apologize, reminding himself that Isa had opened the floor to him, that he’d _asked_ for this, and that it wasn’t going to kill either one of them to lay some blunt honesty on the other.

Finally, Isa said, “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been making this easy.”

“I don’t need it to be easy. I just wanna feel like we’re actually in this together.”

“I know.” Isa took a deep breath and sighed, almost laughing. “It sucks, doesn’t it? We’re fine for ten years, and then my father shows up and makes us realize how bad we are at communicating.” When Lea’s only response was a wan smile, Isa repeated, “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep these things to yourself.” He dropped his gaze for a moment, unusually humbled. “I’ll try to live up to that instead of just saying it.”

“Thank you.”

“We can talk about whatever you want. Whatever you’re angry about, you can tell me. I want to know.”

“…all right, you’re gonna hate this, but…I don’t even feel angry anymore. Just tired.”

Isa smiled in spite of himself. “Well, look at that. We’re finally on the same page.”

Lea smiled a little as well, and they both leaned back against the couch, taking a well-deserved break. After a few minutes of glorious silence, Lea said, “So…are we okay?”

“I think that’s exactly what we are,” Isa replied. “No more, no less.”

Lea nodded, wishing they had a clearer resolution, but trying to be content with the partial progress of ‘okay.’ They sat together a little longer in the gray, neutral state of not fighting but not fully making up, either. When Isa started to get off the couch, Lea said, “Hey—” and cut himself off when Isa paused.

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind. You’re getting up.”

Isa sat back down, taking away his excuse. “What is it?”

Lea hesitated. He couldn’t remember ever having to say what he was apparently about to say, and he almost didn’t now. But he swallowed his pride and said, “I just…could use a hug.”

It sounded as pitiful as he expected, but Isa looked at him with total sympathy. He moved closer and wrapped his arms around Lea, rubbing his back. Lea slumped against him, comforted enough, but also feeling the artificial nature of a hug that had to be asked for. Despite Isa’s claim that they were getting back on the same page, Lea couldn’t help feeling that they weren’t much closer than before.

As they got ready for bed, they went out of their way to do little things for each other. Lea passed Isa the toothpaste instead of putting it on the counter, and Isa took Lea’s clothes to the hamper before Lea could pick them up off the floor himself. They watched TV for a while before going to sleep, just to remember what it was like to sit together without feeling the obligation to talk.

When they turned the TV off, Lea started to go back to his side of the mattress without bothering Isa, who hadn’t said anything or looked at him since they’d gotten into bed. But Isa put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and he waited a moment before leaning over and kissing Lea’s cheek. It was no longer or shorter than usual, just a brief, chaste press of lips before Isa returned to his side of the bed and settled down to sleep.

Lea felt even more upset than if Isa had neglected to kiss him at all. The hesitation beforehand spoke volumes, but what it said, Lea had no idea. Not that Isa was still angry with him, or that he was forcing himself to be affectionate. Just that they still weren’t quite back to normal, and that the emotional distance was infecting every facet of their lives until even the most commonplace gestures required forethought and effort. Lea faced away from Isa and curved his arm under his pillow to draw it closer. He thought he should be feeling lonely, but he didn’t. He felt the opposite: crowded, as if something unwanted and unwelcome had crept into their life, settling down in the now considerable space between them.


	11. Wish I Could Prove I Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Another chapter that turned out longer than I realized.  
Sorry for all the depressing Christmas vibes in here. There are more to come, but New Year's will be better, I promise.  
Characters: Isa, Lea, Ienzo, and Catherine.

The anger moved out of Lea and Isa’s apartment, but something insidious slunk in to take its place. They went through the motions, still touching and talking on a semi-regular basis, but it was all so deliberate. Every bit of physical contact was an active attempt to steer things back to normal, and every step Lea took in his own home left him feeling as if he were tiptoeing through a funeral parlor.

It had rained all evening, trapping them inside with each other. Lea could count on one hand the number of full sentences they’d exchanged. When he got tired of being awake, he said good night to Thorn, making sure she had her stuffed rabbit to keep her company as she settled down in what was becoming more and more difficult to think of as the family room.

Isa was already asleep, and Lea brushed his teeth quietly before climbing into bed—_their_ bed, he reminded himself, trying to shake off the sense that he was intruding on Isa’s space just because he’d gotten there first that night. But as strained as their relationship had been lately, and as hypocritical as the thought made him feel, Lea wished they had their old mattress back. _You’re the dumbass who asked for an upgrade_, he told himself bitterly. _Why did you want this much space? Why did you think it was a good idea to be so far apart_?

The rain let up after half an hour, maybe forty minutes, and as the last drops tapped on the window, Lea felt a shift behind him. He assumed Isa was just turning over in his sleep, but even that possibility stressed him out. They’d been falling asleep facing away from each other lately, and Lea didn’t intend for that night to be any different.

But when Isa stopped moving, Lea could tell by his silence and stillness that he was awake. He hoped Isa wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t try to pick up their last discussion from wherever they’d left off. With any luck, he was just finding a more comfortable position so he could go back to sleep, and soon Lea would do the same, and they could chalk this day up to yet another loss and try all over again tomorrow. But a few seconds later, there was another shift, and then Lea felt Isa’s fingertips moving in slow, tiny circles around his upper back.

He didn’t realize how tense his shoulders had been until they automatically relaxed under Isa’s touch. He still didn’t turn around or say anything. They had failed at their goal of keeping negativity out of the bedroom, but they’d tried their best, and Lea didn’t feel like breaking that streak tonight. Maybe this was all Isa wanted, anyway: a moment of contact to remind Lea that he was there, that they were both still there, together. And then Isa moved closer, all the way across the king-sized space between them.

Neither one of them said a word as Isa slowly but surely extended his touch. He took his time combing Lea’s hair back, tucking as much of it as he could behind his ear. He bent down to kiss his neck, resting his hand on Lea’s waist before sliding it up under his shirt, drawing him back from the edge of the bed as if he were pulling him away from a precipice. Lea’s pulse beat against Isa’s palm, and he thought that with just a little more pressure, Isa could reach straight through him and cup his hand around his heart, guarding it like a candle flame.

When Isa did apply pressure, it was only to hold Lea against his own chest. He found Lea’s pulse again as he brushed his lips beneath his jaw, and Lea felt as if he were both lightyears away and more present than ever. But he didn’t realize how still he’d gone until Isa suddenly eased back on every point of contact: lifting his head, leaning away, relaxing his hand. He gave Lea an inch-wide forcefield of personal space, and the only thing that crossed it was Isa’s cool breath, ghosting over his neck.

It was a fleeting grace period, after which Isa would remove his hand from Lea’s chest, pull his shirt back down for him, and return to his side of the bed, withholding even the briefest _good night_ or _don’t worry_ kiss. But before Isa could do anything, and while he was still close enough to respond to, Lea turned his head.

It was dark, and Lea, as he so often did, acted without fully looking or thinking. He ended up kissing the corner of Isa’s mouth, and he had no chance to correct himself before Isa was reaching around him, grabbing Lea’s hip and turning him onto his back. He guided him further from the edge of the mattress, and only when they were situated in the center of the bed did Isa finally let Lea pull him back down for a kiss.

Lea took a breath through his nose, inhaling Isa’s stark, silver scent, almost like snow. He exhaled with a pleading noise in the back of his throat, one that made him feel unusually self-conscious but made Isa kiss him as deeply as he could. He stopped just long enough to remove Lea’s shirt, dropping it on the floor and kissing Lea on every inch of exposed skin he could find, laying his mouth across his shoulder and down his chest and abdomen. He didn’t rush, but he had such ardent and unrelenting focus that it was all Lea could do to lie there and remember to breathe, weakly threading his fingers into Isa’s hair.

Isa retraced his path back to Lea’s face, kneeling over him as he kissed his cheek and crossed the bridge of his nose. Kissing Lea’s freckles had once been a new discovery, but now it was an old habit—even in December, when there was nowhere near enough sunlight to bring them out. When Isa reached the other side of Lea’s face, however, he paused and pulled back. Lea’s heart skipped as he felt his fears coming true: that Isa would suddenly change his mind and put a stop to what he’d started, that this somehow _wasn’t_ what Lea thought or hoped it was.

But Isa took his hands off Lea’s body and brought them to his face, holding it gently and using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that Lea hadn’t even realized were there. When he finished, Isa slid one hand to the back of Lea’s head, cradling it as he dipped into his mouth again, and Lea felt another pair of tears spill, this time from the corners of his eyes straight back into his hair.

After a decade of living with Isa, all it took was a few weeks of moderate distance for Lea to feel as if he’d never been touched a day in his life. He’d always sought physical affection, slinging his arm around Isa’s shoulders at every opportunity as teens, or sitting in the middle of the couch during movie nights so he could lean back against Isa and stretch his legs out over Demyx. Even in early childhood, he couldn’t seem to last more than an hour before running to his mom for a hug.

Isa had lasted years.

Lea finally touched Isa back, passing his hands slowly over his body and knowing that the lack of tension wasn’t because he was relaxed, but because he was exhausted, as worn down by the last few weeks as Lea was. He held Isa’s face still so he could lay a series of kisses over it like Isa had done to him, crossing the bridge of his nose and working up to his forehead, then settling between his eyebrows. At first, Isa thought Lea was mocking his own habit of kissing him, and then he was simply confused, wondering why Lea was devoting so much time to one of the least erotic parts of the body. And then, all at once, Isa remembered exactly what was on his face.

Lea gave the scars one more soft kiss before lying back down, and for the first and only time that night, he and Isa looked each other in the eye. Isa gazed at Lea, his red hair fanned messily across the pillow like a crown, his chest rising and falling, his eyes now dry but still shining in the dark. They were catlike, both in color and in their way of catching the most distant, minimal light, even when Isa didn’t realize there was any light to catch.

The closest Isa came to saying anything was a fierce exhale as he leaned down and kissed Lea again. After weeks of arguments and avoidance, all it took was a few minutes of familiar touch for Lea’s heart to start beating at a fever pitch, and if Isa’s response was any indication, he was burning for it just as strongly. They were infrared and ultraviolet, craving each other like all opposites did.

Isa’s hands disappeared beneath the covers to finish stripping Lea, a process that Lea complicated by impatiently trying to kick out of his clothes. He fumbled with Isa’s shirt until Isa, equally impatient, sat up and pulled it over his head himself. Lea didn’t waste time staring as he dragged Isa back to him, his blue hair now a complete mess. Lea raked his fingers through it and kept their mouths fitted together while Isa finished undressing, the rest of his clothes getting lost at the foot of the bed.

Lea inhaled deeply to fill himself with Isa’s breath, taking note of every minor detail: their calves pressing together as he hooked one leg around Isa’s, or Isa’s forearms braced against the mattress on either side of Lea, caging him in as if there were anywhere else in the world he’d want to go. When Isa grazed Lea’s neck with his teeth, nipping him lightly, Lea wrapped both arms around him, as affected physically as he was emotionally by that glimpse of Isa’s teasing side, rising to the surface even in the middle of a fight.

Back when they were still new at this, they had to teach each other everything, most of all how to communicate. Isa had helped Lea overcome his self-consciousness enough to make eye contact, allowing Isa to gauge his response from even the smallest expressions. And Lea had taught Isa to speak up, however much he’d annoyed Isa those first few times by repeatedly asking if he was okay. When Isa had finally told Lea to shut up, assuring him that of _course_ he was okay, Lea had shot back, “Well, it’s not like I can _tell_. Make some _noise_, why don’tcha?” It had taken them some time and a lot of positive reinforcement to get over their insecurities—Lea guiding Isa through a simple series of yes or no questions, and Isa rewarding Lea with a kiss at regular intervals so he could close his eyes for a while—but soon eye contact became second nature for Lea, as verbalizing did for Isa.

This time, Lea kept his green eyes squeezed shut and his face buried in Isa’s hair. And where Isa normally would have given half-finished phrases of encouragement, his brushed steel voice so cool and textured that Lea swore he could feel it on his skin, now there was only breathing. Half of Lea worried that they were doing something wrong, taking this step without resolving their fight first. But the other half of him didn’t care as he scratched his fingernails lightly down Isa’s back, making him tense up in the best way. Whatever it took not to feel like strangers for a night.

On the other hand, Lea thought that might not be such a bad thing after all. He couldn’t remember the last time he was left shaking. Isa fared only marginally better, steadier than Lea but barely managing to push himself off his husband before he collapsed by his side, fingers finally loosening from his hair. Lea almost reached out to him, operating on pure instinct, but Isa rolled onto his back, moving away so he could cool down.

While Lea did the same, the swirling euphoria in his brain dispersed, and apprehension crept back in. This had felt like a truce, but he couldn’t help wondering if it would last the rest of the night, or if it was already over. They were on each other’s half of the mattress, and Lea was starting to worry that Isa would simply deal with it for the sake of icing him out again. And the last thing Lea thought they needed was to wake up the next morning on the literal wrong side of the bed.

But Isa still lay on his back, eyes shut, one hand on his stomach. There was an air of contentment around him as his breathing quieted, and Lea inched closer, just enough for Isa to feel the mattress shift. They both waited as he took a few more breaths to unwind, and then, without opening his eyes, Isa extended his arm, inviting Lea back to his side.

Lea didn’t hesitate for a second, wrapping both arms around Isa’s waist and laying his head on Isa’s chest as he exhaled in relief. Isa paused with his arm still raised, then sighed as well and lowered his hand, every gesture slow as if he were moving through water. He smoothed Lea’s damp hair back, flattening the spikes and kissing the top of his head. Lea leaned up into it, staying that way for a few long moments until Isa reclined on the pillow. He brought his hand to Lea’s side, holding him in the crook of his arm as he finally settled in to sleep.

Lea was still shaking, tiny aftershocks that eased away as Isa absently moved his fingertips up and down his waist. There were too many things Lea felt compelled to say: _I’m sorry. I love you. Are you mad at me? Are you okay? Are _we_ okay?_

In the end, he decided it was best to let it all go unspoken for now. Having sex without talking hadn’t killed them, and going to sleep without talking wouldn’t, either. Lea kissed Isa’s chest a few times before laying his head on it again and closing his eyes. He didn’t quite feel better, but he certainly didn’t feel worse, and given their recent track record, that was a victory in itself. Everything else could wait until morning.

When Lea awoke, Isa was already in the kitchen, and after a quick shower, Lea joined him. Thorn was happy to see her other dad, wagging her tail in anticipation of a friendly head rub, but Isa and Lea barely offered each other more than a nod and a halfhearted, “Morning.” Lea lingered behind Isa at the fridge, waiting for him to finish putting his food away, but Isa shut the door without realizing Lea had been about to reach for it. “Sorry,” he said, awkwardly opening it for him again.

While Lea prepared his breakfast, Isa called for Thorn, grabbing her leash along with his coat. Lea waited until they were gone before he put everything down on the counter, resting his elbows on it and holding his head in his hands as he massaged his fingers into his hairline. He held his memories of the previous night up to the current atmosphere of their apartment, and he felt the urge to take another shower. With an agitated ruffle, he put his hair more or less back in place and resumed cooking, thinking that if they were so dead-set on making no progress, then they might as well go back to snapping at each other, saying things they didn’t mean rather than saying nothing at all.

* * *

It was four-thirty p.m. on December twenty-third, and Ienzo, having missed the trolley yet again, dragged his feet to Higanbana through a dusting of snow. He’d been ten infuriating seconds late this time—close enough for the conductor to lean out the window and give Ienzo a genuinely apologetic shrug as the cars rounded the corner. The sentiment was nice, though it really just added insult to injury at that point.

Higanbana was already closed for the holiday, but it was the only place Ienzo knew that was technically still open, assuming Isa was being his typical workaholic self. Ienzo tested the front door, and it swung easily to let him inside, as if it too had become familiar with his presence over the past several months. He shook snowflakes from his hair before putting his winter clothes in the coat check and taking a seat. He had the trolley schedule memorized, but he decided to skip the next few rounds, if only to give his toes a chance to thaw.

He had a book, as always, and he planned to keep to himself at his usual table while Isa kept to himself in the back. But as Ienzo tried to focus on reading, his attention was caught by the quiet conversation that drifted out from the break room.

“—told you I don’t need a ride. I’ll be home soon.”

“I know. I was just shopping for tomorrow. Figured we could…I dunno, talk or something, while I’m out. Sorry if I’m distracting you from pretending to work.”

“Please. It takes someone of Braig’s caliber to distract me these days. And he’s gone for the holiday, thank god. Though I can’t be sure he isn’t just hibernating in the vents.”

Ienzo smiled a little at that, but after some vague grumbling from Lea, he turned his ear toward the open door to the back hall. “Look on the bright side,” he heard Isa say among a shuffle of papers. “Maybe he’ll get a BB gun for Christmas and shoot his other eye out.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh. I’m mad at you.”

“Really. Even after last night?”

“Especially after last night. What the hell _was_ that?”

“…enjoyable?”

“Can you be serious about this for, like, two seconds?”

Ienzo pulled back, already having heard more than he bargained for and particularly surprised to hear Lea lecture Isa, of all people, on not taking a conversation seriously enough. There was a moment of silence before Isa said, “Fine. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Why are we still fighting? What was that even about last night?”

“It wasn’t ‘about’ anything. I missed you.”

“Yeah, I mean…me too. But if I knew things would be even weirder today than they’ve been all week…” Ienzo tensed when he heard footsteps, but they stopped soon after they started, likely just Lea trying to walk off his frustration. “I dunno,” Lea finally said. “I feel like I just had a one night stand with my own husband. This is fucking with my head.”

“All right. Then let’s put all facets of our life on hold until we’ve resolved every single issue. Just let me know when _that_ happens.”

“Okay, great. Thanks for listening. Glad I stopped by.”

There were more footsteps, this time unambiguously headed for the main floor. Ienzo stayed where he sat, not knowing what else to do, and that reaction may have been what saved him. Lea went straight to the entrance, stopping only to grab his coat, too upset to notice Ienzo’s hanging beside it. He stalked out into the frigid evening with his coat halfway on, letting the front door shut behind him with a coldly metallic _thud_.

Ienzo kept an eye on the entrance, finally admitting to himself that he was, regrettably, a little afraid of Lea sometimes, or at least nervous to be around him when his temper flared up. A moment later, the back door swung open, and Isa unknowingly joined Ienzo on the main floor. He looked relatively terrible, wearing a pair of reading glasses that did little to hide the circles under his eyes, and an un-ironed white shirt without his usual vest. His hair was mostly pulled into a loose bun, though the long strands in front were left to hang by his face.

Ienzo didn’t know whether or not he should speak up, let alone what to say if he did. He expected Isa to engage in some stress cleaning, and was taken aback when he went to the bar to make himself a drink instead. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Isa give into a vice, alcohol least of all.

It wasn’t until Isa finished preparing his drink that he finally glanced up and noticed Ienzo. He held the shaker over his glass, ready to pour but completely and almost comically motionless. He put both containers on the counter and took a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh as he said, “Ienzo, what are you doing here?”

“…just…waiting to go home,” Ienzo said. “I won’t be long. It was getting kind of cold out, so…”

There was such uncharacteristic hesitance and a distinct lack of snark in his voice that Isa’s wary demeanor melted away on the spot. “That’s fine,” he said, pouring his drink after all. “I always assumed you overheard everything that went on in this place, anyway.”

“If I heard everything that went on here, I’d never come back.”

Isa raised his glass in a sarcastic and halfhearted salute. He took a sip, then gave Ienzo a funny look, mildly concerned. “You’re not stranded, are you?”

“No, I just keep missing the trolley. Aeleus was going to drive me, but he had a doctor’s appointment or something.”

Isa didn’t quite laugh, but there was a sort of tired amusement about him. “Less than a year ago, your father was threatening litigation if Aeleus so much as contacted you again. Now he moonlights as your chauffeur.”

“Yeah…my father’s great at holding grudges until it’s more pragmatic not to. Plus, he doesn’t like to drive in the snow. Or at night.”

“I don’t blame him.” Isa took another sip of his drink and rubbed his temple, drawing his hand down in confusion before he rolled his eyes and remembered to take his glasses off. “Well, can I get you anything while you wait?”

“I’m all right.”

“You’re sure?”

“…some water, I guess?”

Isa filled a glass and brought it to Ienzo’s table, giving him an approving look when he grabbed a coaster. For a second, Ienzo wondered if Isa was about to join him, and he felt oddly guilty for hoping he wouldn’t. Luckily, Isa returned to the counter, reaching across it for his own glass as he settled down on a barstool. He crossed his legs, spacing out for a while and letting Ienzo drink his water. “I’m sorry you heard that,” he eventually said, still gazing across the room. “It was unprofessional.”

Ienzo shrugged. “It’s not like it was during work hours.”

“Still.” Isa swirled his drink gently, staring at it with an air of discomfort not at all unlike Ienzo’s. “I hope you didn’t hear too much.”

“Not really,” Ienzo lied. “Just enough to be worried you guys are getting a divorce.”

Isa raised an eyebrow, trading his discomfort for a reprimanding look, as Ienzo had intended. “Listen,” he began. “We’ve enjoyed having you around these past few months, but if you ever joke about that again, you’re banned for a year. Understood?”

Ienzo nodded, playing along, though a moment later he asked, “Do you think you’re going to need counseling?”

Isa snorted. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve needed counseling for the past twenty years.” Ienzo didn’t laugh, already beginning to understand Lea’s frustration at not having his questions taken seriously. He waited for a more reassuring answer, surprised by how much he wanted one, and after a few seconds, Isa relented. “No, Ienzo. It’s just a fight.”

“…pretty long fight.”

“Well, we’re out of practice.” Isa took another sip of his Sacred Moon, ignoring his own mental reminder that he _really_ shouldn’t be drinking for stress relief. “We try to keep our fighting to neutral territory. Places we can leave indefinitely if it gets too bad. As unprofessional—and selfish—as it is to let this spread to the workplace, I prefer to get it out of our system before we go home.”

Ienzo nodded, feeling like it might be inappropriate to smile in response to what Isa was saying. But he couldn’t help letting a small one creep onto his face, and it didn’t take Isa long to pick up on it. “What?”

“You kind of…” Ienzo tried not to smile more, in case Isa thought he was making fun of him. “You just…remind me of my father sometimes.”

Isa stopped swirling his drink for a moment to stare, though he regained himself quickly. “Thank you,” he said. “Or how dare you. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or offended.”

“Case in point: that’s exactly what he would say.”

It was brief, but a small smile lit Isa’s eyes before he shook his head and took another sip of his drink. Ienzo was observant enough and—more importantly—familiar enough with Isa to notice. He felt a sense of satisfaction for having caused it, a sense that diminished when Isa said, a little too casually, “Speaking of your father—”

“Oh, _please_ just let this drop already.”

“Absolutely not. It’s been far too long since we had a decent mystery to solve in this place. Demyx ended our only other bet by informing us that he has, in fact, been getting together with Braig.”

“…did you guys seriously not know that?”

“_I _knew.” Ienzo laughed a little, but he shrugged, trying to dismiss his own awkwardness.

“Well, as for my father…I don’t know,” he admitted. “But that isn’t really what bothers me. It’s that I didn’t even consider the possibility until someone else suggested it.”

Isa nodded, amused that Ienzo couldn’t even state outright that they were addressing the idea of his father being gay. But he could also see how much pressure the kid put on himself, even in low-stakes and frankly ridiculous situations like this. “We all have blind spots when it comes to family, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Ienzo mulled that over for a moment. “…do you mind if I ask you something?”

“No.”

“How did you…I mean, did your parents know, early on? About you?” Isa hesitated, lowering his glass as he studied Ienzo openly but inscrutably. “Sorry,” Ienzo said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You can ask whatever you want,” Isa said, still regarding him carefully. “If it’s too intrusive, I’ll tell you.”

Ienzo peeled the edge of the coaster, smoothing it back into place before Isa could scold him. “I don’t want to pry.”

Isa, for the first time that evening, let a small smile truly settle on his face. “You’re not prying, Ienzo. We’re talking.” He took some time to consider his answer, leaving Ienzo to wait as patiently as he could, and to wonder if unlocking Isa’s backstory would really be this simple.

“Well, my mother passed away when I was very young,” Isa began. “I never knew her.”

“…I’m sorry,” Ienzo said, knowing better than anyone how trite that kind of apology sounded.

“Thank you,” Isa said cordially—a response Ienzo was also all too familiar with. “As for my father…he knew early on. For sure by the time I was ten, though he claimed to have figured it out sooner.”

Ienzo smiled a little to lighten the tension after the revelation about Isa’s mother. “Not so subtle, huh?”

“No, I suppose not.” Isa took another sip of his drink, ready to end the discussion, but Ienzo was fiddling with the coaster again.

“So…how did you tell him?”

Isa gave him a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”

Ienzo hadn’t expected that reply, though he had to admit it was a valid question. Isa watched him closely, puzzling the answer out right along with him. “I know we’ve all had a laugh about how oblivious your father is,” he said slowly, “but he _does _know this is a gay club by now, correct?”

“I don’t know what he does or doesn’t know.” Isa stared, and Ienzo sighed. “I don’t know,” he said, a little less pedantically.

“…look, I’ll be the first to say that your father is _singularly_ odd—”

“You’re far from the first.”

“—but he doesn’t strike me as homophobic. Believe me, I was on the lookout the first time he—ah, graced us with his presence.”

“I know. It’s just…weird to talk about it, I guess. Everyone’s so cool with it these days, it feels superfluous to have a whole sit-down conversation, you know?”

“…no. I don’t.” Isa stirred his drink, and with another quiet sigh, he added, “To answer your previous question, I didn’t tell my father. The school did.”

Ienzo blinked. “What?”

“I was in…fifth grade, I believe? One of my classmates had been giving me a hard time. I suppose I was an easy target, even back…anyway. It all came to a head during recess, and my father was called and informed of the incident.”

“The school outed you?” Isa shrugged blandly. “I’m…_pretty_ sure that’s illegal.”

“Well, yes. It is now. This was back in 2001. Truthfully, I never understood what made them decide to take action in the first place. The ‘incident’ was hardly severe for its time. You couldn’t go a week without someone in your friend group calling someone else a fag.”

“…my _bullies_ wouldn’t even call me that,” Ienzo said, stunned by what he was hearing, and Isa felt just as stunned in return. It truly hit him in that moment, how broad a gap ten years really was. Against his will, he started to get that rare but familiar feeling, the one that was both unpleasant to him and unfair to everyone else: jealousy.

He took a moment to remind himself—even now, in the middle of one of their worst fights—that while he and Lea didn’t get to have the exact childhood they’d wanted, he wouldn’t trade their past for anything. Every step they took in secrecy had filled Isa with unbearable anxiety, but had also felt like the deepest revelation. That was what made them special, and whenever Isa’s bitterness emerged at the sight of teenagers treating this like it was all so ordinary, whenever he started to feel like he’d never get to make up for lost time, he remembered that none of the time he and Lea had spent together was lost.

“Well,” Isa said, forcing a more casual tone again, “your bullies have to be careful. They know they have your father to contend with.”

Ienzo snickered. “So…you _didn’t_ have to tell your dad, then?”

“No, I did.”

“But you said the school already told him.”

“…yes.”

“And you said he’d already figured it out, even before then?”

“According to him,” Isa said, running out of rationalizations the more he tried to think about it. Suddenly, he felt very tired. “I’m sorry, Ienzo. I wish I could be of more help. Why don’t you try talking to Aeleus? I’m sure he’d be happy to give you some guidance.”

“I don’t want to bother him with this. He’s still trying to figure out how he feels about…you know. The whole situation.”

Isa tapped his finger thoughtfully against his glass. “You know…it’s nice to get some perspective. All things considered, my problems could certainly be worse.” He poured the rest of his drink down the drain and stood, holding his hand out for Ienzo’s glass to indicate that it was time to go. He took care of the cleaning and went to his office to gather his things, and Ienzo packed his bag slowly, waiting for him to come back.

“Well, I’d offer to give you a lift home,” Isa said when he returned, “but Lea took the car.”

“…kind of a dick move,” Ienzo said as he followed Isa to the front door.

“It’s considerate, believe it or not. He knows I don’t like driving, even in the best conditions.” Isa passed Ienzo his coat. “Will you be all right waiting for the trolley?”

“Sure,” Ienzo said, knotting his scarf before buttoning his coat all the way up to his neck. “Not to sound like Braig, but with all the fighting lately, it’s been colder in here than it is outside.”

Isa put his own coat on, giving him an admonishing look. “Ienzo…is that any way to speak to your uncle?”

Ienzo groaned like the teenager he was, bringing a weary but unguarded smile back to Isa’s face. “Did Aeleus tell _all_ of you?”

“I heard it from Dilan,” Isa said. “You can call me Uncle Scrooge, if you prefer. Everyone does this time of year.”

“Wow,” Ienzo said, stepping outside so Isa could set the alarm. “I bet that never gets old.”

“To be fair, the first time Braig did it, I shouldn’t have said anything. Pointing out that the club is apparently run by Scrooge and Marley turned a one-time joke into an annual tradition. That’s what I get for trying to outwit Braig, I suppose.”

Ienzo shook his head as Isa locked the door. “So…heading home?”

“Probably not,” Isa replied, dropping the keys in his bag. “At least for a few hours. Of course, I have no idea where to go by myself. A movie, I guess.”

“Don’t ask me. If I’m not here, I’m at the library.”

“…you know, you’ve turned out to be a much more boring person than I expected.”

Ienzo thought Isa had turned out to be much more complicated than he expected, but he figured that wasn’t something he’d want to hear right now. “Well…till next week, then.”

“Next time you come in, tell Braig your drink is on the house. Assuming you haven’t already been getting them for free.”

“I would never.”

Isa gave him a skeptical look, knowing him too well to believe him. “Well, regardless.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Happy birthday, Ienzo.”

“Thanks. Merry Christmas.”

Isa nodded, unconvinced, then turned and made his way down the sidewalk, the single set of footprints marking his lonely path through the snow.

* * *

“All right,” Catherine sighed, handing Lea his tea and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “What couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

She knew, of course. Taking recent events and her son’s demeanor into account, it wasn’t hard to figure out what had led him to her house the night before Christmas Eve, unannounced and alone. Lea ran his thumb over the rim of the mug and shrugged, looking around the room aimlessly to get his thoughts together. “Wow,” he said, distracted by the garland and mostly-decorated tree. “You got a lot done already.”

“Yeah, well. I figured spending the holiday doing chores wouldn’t be the most helpful thing for you guys.”

“They’re not chores. You should’ve waited for us—you don’t need to be doing this all by yourself.”

“Well…I didn’t. Isa stopped by the other day and gave me a hand for a few hours.”

“…right,” Lea said, staring down at his tea. “So you’ve already heard everything I’m gonna tell you.”

“I mean, we talked, obviously. He needed to vent as much as you do.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Pretty much what you’d expect. His father. Work. How things have been difficult between you two lately.”

Lea nodded slowly. “…what’d he say?”

She looked disappointed in him. “Lea, you _know_ I can’t—”

“I know, I know,” he said, waving his hand as if to erase the fact that he’d even asked. “We’re just not getting anywhere talking to each other. Nowhere we wanna be, anyway. Just…wondering if you had any pointers, I guess.”

“I know. I wish I had an easy fix, but this just isn’t a problem I can solve for you.” Catherine put her tea on the coffee table to cool and wedged a pillow behind her back. “I’ve got some free time if you feel like ranting, though.”

“If there’s one thing I’m sick of, it’s ranting.” Lea tapped his fingernails on his mug. “I just feel like I’m spinning my wheels. I’m the one pouring my heart out, and he’s just closing off.”

“…that’s not exactly new, is it?”

“No. That’s the thing. We’re supposed to be better than this by now. But he just sits there putting up with me, and I rant until I inevitably say something stupid and piss him off, and then we’re back at square one.”

“You tried singing that Barenaked Ladies song from when you were kids? That always worked like a charm.”

“I’m being serious,” Lea said, though he had to fight back a faint smile. “We’re way past that. It feels like we’re just having the same stupid conversations over and over and never getting anywhere.”

He slouched, resting the mug on his stomach, and Catherine frowned. “…okay, look,” she finally said, “I know I said I wouldn’t tell you, but I think it might help. I’m sure it’s frustrating to feel like you aren’t making progress. He probably seems frustrated, too. But…well, you know how he grew up. Talking just for the sake of it? Being able to express his feelings, even if they’re ‘bad?’ That’s something he never had in his life until you came along. You _want_ to understand him and know him better, even if what you hear might hurt your ego a bit. At the end of the day, he loves being able to even have these talks with you. You may not think they’re doing any good, but they are.”

The deadened look in Lea’s eyes was slipping away, and a heartbroken one was taking its place. “I think you should keep at it,” Catherine said, ruffling his hair lightly. “I know it’s hard, but will it really make things any worse?”

“I’m afraid it won’t change anything at all,” Lea said, his voice opening up in a way that indicated he might be about to cry if he weren’t so tired. “It’s like there’s this glass wall. I can see him, and I know he can see me, but the emotions aren’t crossing over. If I sit down with him and bare my soul, just put everything out there, and _still_ nothing changes…I dunno if I can handle that at this point. It’s almost better to just have these stupid nothing fights or avoid each other altogether.” Lea rubbed his eyes. “That sounds awful, huh?”

“It’s not awful. It’s complicated. I don’t blame you guys for needing time to work through it.”

“It doesn’t even _feel_ complicated,” Lea said. “It doesn’t feel like anything, most of the time. We get in an argument, we talk it out or go to bed angry, and the next day things just suck again. It’s like our new routine.” He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment to keep his voice steady. “It’s kind of scaring me. I don’t know when fighting with him started to feel this easy.”

He slouched further, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea, and Catherine sighed and followed his lead. “I really wish I could help more, kiddo. But you don’t want relationship advice from me, of all people.”

Lea put the cup back on his stomach, fiddling with the handle. “…yeah I do.”

She’d figured that would be the case, but she was reluctant to sit up again, wincing as she stretched her back. “Okay,” she said, adjusting the throw pillow behind her. “Are you mad at him?”

“What, right now? Or in general?”

“Either. Both.”

“…yeah, kind of.” Lea scratched the side of his head, behind his ear. “Yeah. But I’m mad at myself, too, if that makes it any better.”

“Do you still love him?”

“Of course.” Lea furrowed his brow. “I mean, I feel like shit. Frustrated, tired. Sad. And…yeah, kinda pissed at him right now. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have the same love for him I’ve always had.”

Catherine nodded slowly. “Well…love is a verb, Lea,” she said gently. “It’s not something you have. It’s something you do.”

“…yeah.” Lea rubbed his eyes again, pressing his hand to them for a few long moments. “Just…feels like it’s taking a lot of work these days.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. No relationship is perfect all the time. You should love each other enough to _want_ to work at it.”

Lea laughed a little self-deprecatingly, but appreciatively. “Sounds obvious when you say it. How come you know everything?”

“I don’t know everything.”

“Everything important. It’s taking me forever to get this stuff.”

“Funny. You’re the one who taught me.” When Lea gave her a baffled look, she smiled. “C’mon. You were the easiest kid in the world to love. But caring for you took a _hell_ of a lot of work. It wasn’t enough for me to know I loved you. You had to be able to feel that love, too.” She shrugged. “Different circumstances, obviously. But you asked for relationship advice. I like to think this is pretty standard across the board.”

Lea couldn’t help smiling a little, but hearing his mother take them that far into the past made him start to go back even further. He waited until she was taking another sip of tea, to feel like some of the pressure was off him, before he asked, “Hey, could…I mean, d’you mind if I ask you some stuff? …about your family?”

Catherine lowered her mug, looking surprised by both the question itself and how tentatively it had been asked. “Lea, of course,” she said. “You can always ask.” When he shrugged, and she noticed his foot starting to fidget, she added, “Why did you think you couldn’t?”

“I dunno. They just never really seemed like factors in anything, I guess.” He scratched the back of his head. “Honestly, when I was younger, I didn’t want to hear about them ‘cause they treated you so shitty. Like, why even give them the time of day? But after a while, I realized maybe I didn’t bother asking you anything about them because I just couldn’t relate to any of it. And, like…I know you and Isa have talked about this more than I have. So maybe _that’s_ why I wanna know now.” Lea wrapped both hands around the coffee mug to keep from fidgeting further, though he tapped his thumb repeatedly against the edge of it. “It’s just, I know this is a whole _thing_ you guys have dealt with, and I don’t wanna ask for the wrong reasons, y’know? Like I can’t let Isa have just one thing to himself, that you two can talk about with each other—”

“Lea,” Catherine said sternly. “Forget about Isa for a minute, okay? He’s not here right now. This is you and me.” Lea paused, taken aback by her bluntness, but when he nodded at his tea, she added more gently, “You’ve got as much right to ask as anyone. So don’t overthink it. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

She figured he already had a question in mind, but she wasn’t surprised that it took him a moment to ask it. He didn’t look at her when he finally said, “Do you still hate them?”

Catherine shrugged. “I don’t know if I ever really did, to be honest. At the time, sure, it felt that way. Bear in mind, I _was_ sixteen years old,” she added, in a weak attempt to infuse some humor into the conversation. “But when I finally left, it wasn’t because I hated them. It was because I realized I needed to take care of myself, and you, and I just couldn’t do that there.”

Lea nodded slowly, trying to understand the situation from her point of view. “I think that’s why Isa left his father’s house, too,” Catherine went on. “Y’know, he was on autopilot when he came here. That’s how he described it to me at the time, anyway.”

For the first time in the past few minutes, Lea looked at his mother, and he immediately wished he hadn’t. Her steady and easygoing tone belied the guilt on her face, and Lea felt that guilt jump hosts and latch onto him as well, for making her talk about this in the first place. As a teenager, and as Isa’s best friend and boyfriend, Lea had felt as if he’d gone through the experience right along with him. Catherine, on the other hand, had simply felt like the adult who had failed him, watching the problem unfold from the wrong side of a window, and waiting for it to come all the way to her doorstep before she did anything about it.

“We don’t have to keep talking about this if you don’t want,” Lea said, but his mother shook her head.

“It’s fine. My point is just that leaving home wasn’t some show of defiance—for me, or for Isa. He left because on some level—thank god—he knew he needed to be safe. It’s a good thing, in the end, but it leaves some complicated emotional baggage behind. Hard to get closure like that.”

“…do you ever miss them?”

Catherine gave him another stern look. “First things first,” she began, “because I think I know what you’re asking. I do not think, for one second, that Isa misses his father. And you shouldn’t, either. In ten years, has he ever given a single hint of wanting to go back? I mean, Jesus, Lea, he proposed to you eight months after moving in, didn’t he?”

Lea nodded, smiling a little in spite of himself. “Good,” Catherine said. “And if it helps you to know this: no, I don’t miss them. Every once in a while, I’ll see something that reminds me of them—a movie or a song that came out when I was a kid, stuff like that—but it’s just regular nostalgia, mostly. And even if I do find myself missing them for real, it never lasts long. They’re going to keep being the people they’ve always been, doing the things they’ve always done. I don’t harbor any ill will toward them, and I hope they’re content enough without me, but overall, I don’t really care.”

She took another sip of tea while Lea rolled her response over in his mind, seeming reassured enough by it. After a moment, Catherine added, “I do miss my brother, sometimes.”

“You had a brother?”

“Yeah.”

Lea furrowed his brow a bit, trying to figure out why it bothered him that he’d never known that. “Older or younger?”

“Older—just by a year or so. If there’s one person I genuinely miss sometimes, it’d be him.” She shrugged again. “But you know, I missed him before I even left. Things had changed since we were kids. And they’ve changed even more now. He’s never tried to contact me, in all these years. He’s off living his own life somewhere, and I’m here living mine. That’s just how it goes sometimes.” She glanced at Lea. “I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t trade a single thing I have now for anything I had then. And I know the same goes for Isa.”

Lea closed his eyes again, trying to absorb her words without letting the truth of them break him down completely. He tilted his head back against the familiar sofa, and his mother let him rest in silence for a few minutes. But after watching him sink more heavily into the cushions, she gave his shoulder a nudge. “You’re not gonna ask to stay the night, are you?”

Lea scoffed, though he was too tired to put any energy behind it. “What, you don’t think couples should spend time apart when they’re fighting?”

“I think you should do whatever you need to. And you can come here anytime you want to talk, or just to get away from things for a few hours. But this can’t be where you hide out.”

Lea opened his eyes and looked down at the mug again. “…why not?”

“Because if you stay here, then where does Isa get to go when he needs a break? This was his home, too.”

“I know,” Lea said, once again aware that he’d overstepped a boundary even before she answered his question. “I know.”

“I know you do. And I’m not saying you guys have to force yourselves to spend time together. You don’t have to go home. But you can’t stay here.” He nodded, and she could see him trying so hard to be good, to acknowledge what was right instead of what would simply make him feel better. “…you two are still coming over tomorrow, though, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Lea said, clinging to the chance to reassure her for a change. “Us _three_. Thorn’s dying to be around someone normal.”

“Oh, good. That’s who I was really asking about.”

Lea laughed quietly and finished his tea, completely cooled now and hardly the comforting drink his mother had intended it to be. He lowered the mug and tilted it absentmindedly, studying the spoon scratches on the inside, marking its years like rings on a tree. He passed it back to his mother when she offered her hand. “I know you’re gonna head out in a while,” she said, “but I haven’t really been on top of the cleaning here. If you’re looking for a way to kill some time…”

Her tone was cautiously hopeful, but Lea was as grateful for the distraction as Catherine was for the help. She tidied up the family room and then sat down again for a much-needed break while Lea took care of the dishes, going on to clean the rest of the kitchen afterward. When he finally admitted that it was time to quit stalling and get out of his mother’s hair, she met him in the front hall to see him off.

“Feeling any better?” she asked as he put his coat and scarf on. He shrugged.

“Kinda. More level, I guess. Still tired, though.”

“That’s all right.” She handed him his gloves, which he stuck in his pockets. “Go have a warm dinner. Take a bath. Close your eyes and just sit with all of this for a while.” She fixed his hair, still out of place from when she’d ruffled it earlier. “This isn’t forever, kiddo. You’ll be okay.”

Lea’s vision blurred, but he was exhausted past the point of crying. He let her hug him for a few minutes before she gave him a brisk back rub, thanked him for his help around the house, and sent him on his way from one home to the next.

* * *

Ienzo got ready for bed earlier than usual that evening. He exited the bathroom just in time to see his father coming up the stairs, finally willing to let his brain power down for the night, or at least for a few hours.

“Good night,” Even said as he reached the top step.

“Good night,” Ienzo replied, pausing in the middle of the hallway. Even paused as well, waiting for him to pass, and Ienzo answered his unspoken question—and raised a few more—by stepping forward to give his father a stilted hug.

Even hesitated, caught by surprise and trying to figure out if there was some reason for this unexpected embrace. After a few seconds, Ienzo let him go and retreated to his room without an explanation—just a quiet, intuitive voice in his head telling him that he was very, very lucky.

* * *

Lea’s mood had been tenuous to begin with, and as soon as he got home, the apprehension started to bleed back in. He spent a few minutes greeting Thorn to build up his courage before he ventured further inside, though Isa was nowhere to be seen. The bed had been stripped, however, and Lea felt an unprecedented jolt of anxiety at the sight. He took a deep breath and assured himself that this wasn’t proof of the previous night having been so intrinsically, morally _wrong_ that it needed to be erased. Isa was simply being his orderly and hygienic self, tackling the physical messes in lieu of the emotional ones.

Exhibit A: the laundry basket full of clean clothes, sitting on the bare mattress. With a sigh, Lea began sorting, grateful for the never-ending household tasks that provided at least a semblance of normal life.

When Isa returned with the second laundry basket, he said nothing, and Lea didn’t expect him to. But after Isa set the basket full of sheets down, he joined Lea at the foot of the bed, taking clothes from the pile and folding them calmly and methodically.

Lea’s reflexive urge to break the silence was overpowered by his certainty that it would only make everything worse. He continued to sort the clothes while Isa continued to fold them, but when Isa picked up one of Lea’s T-shirts, Lea rested his hands on the edge of the basket, bowing his head. Isa paused, then laid the half-folded shirt on the bed and reached out, tentatively placing his hand on Lea’s back.

Lea faced him without a word, wrapping his arms fully around Isa. He held him as if he were something Lea was in danger of losing, inviting Isa to lean against him as a source of safety and stability, even if Lea felt he’d been failing at that particular role lately.

Isa rested his arms around Lea’s waist, the most he could manage in their current position. It felt stiff and inorganic, but they both wanted and needed it enough to commit to it anyway. It wasn’t until Lea finally spoke that he realized how much emotional turmoil had been brewing beneath his exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice more broken than he anticipated. Isa hugged him tighter, automatically rubbing his back, still loving him on an instinctive level no matter how much they were fighting.

“I know,” he murmured. He freed one of his arms and raised his hand to the back of Lea’s head, guiding it down onto his shoulder and sifting his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, too.”

That, Lea hadn’t known, and he hugged Isa tighter as well. They had no idea how long they stood there, clinging to each other—“as long as they needed” was the only gauge they measured by. When they eventually let go, they finished folding the clothes and moved on to the sheets. They didn’t talk about it, or anything, for the rest of the evening, but they sat on the couch together and watched TV, occasionally reaching out for casual but purposeful contact. They went through their nightly routines without avoiding each other, and when they went to bed, they settled down a little closer to the middle, believing—for the first time in weeks—that things might truly be better in the morning.


	12. With Your Better Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I bring the gift of Christmas sadness. At least Lea and Isa aren't the only ones having a rough time this holiday season, right?  
Characters: Vanitas and Naminé.

Vanitas would have kicked himself for falling asleep under the bridge, if his foot hadn’t fallen asleep, too. He stretched his leg, seething at the cactus-prickle in his skin and the shiver that ran up his body. It wasn’t the cold that got to him—temperatures had dropped well below safe levels back in the desert, if he stayed out too long. But the dampness was something he’d never had to concern himself with before. He learned very quickly on the streets of Radiant Garden that staying dry was his top priority, even above staying warm.

He got the blood flowing down his leg again, then used the concrete wall to help him stand. He yawned stiffly, and there was a thick taste in his mouth, like black licorice and smoke. That, along with the spiraling dizziness, told him it was about time to get some food.

He’d already withdrawn the few funds from his bank account, and he was trying to make them last as long as possible while he figured out what he was even doing. So he crept into an alley to forage, knowing that his options would be infinitely better on campus, but also knowing that it was nowhere near worth the risk of running into his grandfather. Besides, he thought with grim optimism, why waste munny on vending machines when he could revisit his old hobby of dumpster-diving?

It blew his mind how pretentious he’d been just under a year ago. The items he would have taken time to photograph and immortalize were now worthless to him, and he chucked them aside, intentionally trying to break a few. At least those months of photography practice had helped him figure out the best scavenging spots, he thought. The stray dogs in this town could learn a thing or two from him.

He found some expired peanut butter crackers that looked safe enough, and as he stuffed them into the pocket of his hoodie, he struggled to think of anything else he could do. It was an overcast but unseasonably warm day, so he simply returned to the riverside. He stayed at the top of the embankment this time, about twenty feet from the road. Settling down on a large, flat rock, he poked his finger through the cellophane wrapping and started picking out crackers, most of which crumbled in half at his touch. They were a little stale, but then again, so was he. No amount of gas station sink baths could quite keep that at bay. It was one of the many reasons the clock was ticking, counting down the time he’d be able to keep living like this. The numbers hung above his head, winding closer and closer to zero, and he stared at the river and put another cracker on his tongue.

The breeze was refreshing and cool, keeping Vanitas awake for at least a little while. He watched a crumpled, faded piece of paper drift by. _That’s me_, he thought, timing his words with the paper as it rolled and bounced along the rocks. _An aimless…piece…of trash_. If he’d gone back to the desert, he at least would have been something notable, like a tumbleweed. A cliché people recognized. Here, he was just plain, literal garbage, purposeless and appropriately discarded.

He crumbled another cracker in his mouth and continued to gaze out across the water. It was a pure time-killer, this level of zoning out. At first, he'd told himself it was a necessary mental break, but he always emerged from these fogs even more blank than when he’d sunk into them. Still, they were hard to resist. The rush of the river and the way the edge of town petered out on the opposite shore were the only things that truly soothed him these days.

The breeze passed again, sharper than before. He put the remaining crackers back in his sweatshirt and took his lighter out to warm his hands, and then took the cigarettes out while he was at it. The pack didn’t even hold its shape anymore, more of a soft pouch than a carton. He rolled it over in one hand while he picked at the hem of his sweatshirt with the other. There were loose threads all over him. When he’d gotten bored of them, he’d moved on to pulling at hangnails, and then scratching minor scrapes and cuts to keep them from healing. It hadn’t taken him long to realize he couldn’t pull himself together, so he’d started pulling himself apart instead, speeding up the process.

_Fuck it_, he thought, pushing the top of the carton up with his thumb, and pausing only when he heard his name.

His hand stilled. He kept staring hazily at the river and the distant shore, hearing that voice in his head again. _All right. Have a safe trip_.

But it was simply his name, and when he turned, bleary-eyed, toward its source, he saw Naminé standing on the other side of the guard rail. She was wearing a faded and outdated coat. Her hair was in its usual braid, strawlike in the dry winter air. Her face was breaking out for the same reason, dotted with splotches of red on her cheeks and jaw. She looked like an angel.

Vanitas stood up and didn’t know what to do from there. Everything, including her, swam in his vision, and he was vaguely aware that he was standing at the top of a very steep and rocky slope. But he was steady enough, and he blinked to clear away the blur. “Hey.”

She held a paper cup in her hand, steam curling off of whatever warm drink was inside it—_French vanilla latte,_ Vanitas's long-term memory filled in for him. She looked him over carefully, her eyes showing nothing more than mild surprise. “You’re not back home,” she said once she finished her assessment.

Vanitas thought of all the things he could say. He’d changed his mind. He’d just gotten back, and he was sorry for not texting sooner. He’d never truly wanted to leave in the first place. But he just said, “Yeah,” unable to insult her intelligence with excuses, whether they were blatant lies or pathetic truths.

Naminé chewed the inside of her lip, drawing her own conclusions, then gestured to his hand. “Um…do you mind if I…?”

Vanitas wasn’t sure what she meant until she held her own hand out for the cigarettes. So often, he had run out of Xehanort’s house with the intention of finally lighting up, but by the time he was far enough away, the adrenaline and fresh air had purged his anger. He’d always told himself _next_ time, for sure, like the opposite of an addict, promising himself that he could start anytime he wanted.

If he had known where they would eventually end up—because of _course_ he was giving them to her without protest—he would have tossed them a long time ago. He never would have bought them in the first place.

But here he was, putting poison in Naminé’s delicate hand, and he felt lower than anything, too tired to take care of himself and too tired to take care of her. He wasn’t too tired to flinch in surprise when she closed her fist around the pack, rolling it in her palm to crush the cigarettes inside. She went to a nearby trash can and dropped the broken pieces in it, taking the lid off her cup and pouring her drink over them for good measure. With everything properly disposed of, she returned to the guard rail and said to Vanitas, “Come with me.”

It wasn’t an invitation, or a humbly generous offer, but a command, plain and simple, and Vanitas could neither protest nor obey. He couldn’t do anything, suddenly feeling so, _so_ tired. He pressed his fingertips to his eyes and stood there, letting it all settle on him, just breathing. Neither one of them spoke. The only sound was the muted rush of the river far below and the occasional car tires that whooshed by, displacing slush.

Finally, Naminé said his name again, a little more gently, and he exhaled, still pressing until the blood vessels in his eyelids turned to foil, speckling the darkness. He lowered his hands, staring at nothing for a few seconds while his vision returned. He looked up at Naminé and immediately looked back down, nodding. She stepped away from the guard rail so he could climb over it, and—like a stray dog after all—he dutifully, warily, and gratefully followed her home.

* * *

Like before, Naminé went into taskmaster mode as soon as they were inside, and like before, Vanitas could do nothing but follow her instructions. She went to the kitchenette, telling him to use the bathroom if he needed to take a shower while she rummaged through the cabinets. He plucked at his sweatshirt and pointed out his lack of spare clothes. Naminé put a small pot on the stove and paused, trying to figure out a workaround, and then she nodded, accepting that she didn’t have one. She poured a can of soup and started boiling some water while Vanitas wandered into the bathroom anyway, at least to wash his face, which was difficult to do while avoiding the mirror at all costs.

There was a cup of tea and a bowl of soup waiting for him when he returned. “The rest is on the stove,” Naminé said, grabbing her coat while Vanitas took a seat at the table. “You can help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen while I’m gone.”

He looked down at the steady flow of steam coming off the soup, nodding vacantly. “Where’re you going?”

“I have to run some errands.”

Vanitas promptly decided to shut up at her brisk tone. He swore he wouldn’t eat all of her soup, but he polished off his bowl and the rest of the pot within five minutes of her leaving. He downed the tea, too, which he hadn’t even particularly wanted except for its warmth.

His stomach ached, filled with too much comfort too fast. He rooted around the kitchen for some baking soda, feeling as revoltingly ratlike as he ever had. But once his stomach had more or less settled, he took a seat at the table again. The couch would have been more comfortable, but there was no force in the universe that would get him back over there without express permission.

When Naminé returned about an hour later, she placed a large shopping bag on the table and removed from it as many essentials as she could think of: a toothbrush, soap, and even an extra pillow, which looked fairly cheap but was in that moment the most luxurious thing Vanitas had ever laid eyes on. She also took out a pair of flannel pants, a plain gray T-shirt, and a pack of black socks. “These are for you” she said superfluously, laying them on the table. “They might not be a perfect fit, but they should get the job done. I, um. I don’t know how to buy underwear for a guy,” she added, her bluntness an obvious and ineffective coping mechanism for her awkwardness. “But I figured you could at least have something to change into for tonight so you can wash your clothes. You can use the machine and dryer in the basement.”

Vanitas nodded as he gathered the clothes and returned to the bathroom for a long-awaited shower, grateful for the exhaustion that kept his own awkwardness at bay. It took forever for his hair to feel clean, and he tried not to look down, afraid to see how concave his stomach had gotten. The warm water finally brought feeling back to his toes, and while it wasn’t a pleasant one, he welcomed it.

He put the pajamas on and bundled his dirty clothes together, hoping they could still be revived by a couple rounds in the washing machine. When he returned from the basement, Naminé had arranged the pillow and some spare blankets on the couch. “It’s not the best set-up, but it should be comfortable enough,” she said, as if he’d never sat on it before. He nodded and took a seat, and she did the same. It was evening, and only the kitchen lights were on, leaving their half of the room in moderate shadow. After a few minutes of surprisingly bearable silence, Naminé finally asked, “What happened?”

Vanitas kept staring at the floor. When he felt a chill on his bare arms, he pulled one of the blankets out from under him, wrapping it around his shoulders. The gesture blended into a shrug nicely, as if he could brush off his reply of, “My grandfather and I got into a fight. I left.”

He could hear how much and yet how little that explained. He waited for her to ask for specifics, or to grill him again about going to Higanbana, or for ghosting her afterward, or even for lying about leaving town.

It almost broke him in half when she asked, with genuine confusion, “Why didn’t you come here sooner?”

“…I dunno,” he said, rubbing his forehead and trying to keep his voice from cracking. “I knew I couldn’t go back.”

It was a vague answer, almost nonsensically so, but Naminé nodded. The difference between “I’m having a rough night, can I hang out at your place for a bit?” and “everything’s ruined and I have nowhere else to go” was huge, and she knew it.

Vanitas let his gaze drift around the room while they sat in silence again. Naminé had placed his sneakers beside the radiator to dry. Her mess had been rearranged since the last time he was over, but all of her plants remained at their usual posts on the windowsill. The cactus had even begun to flower—purple after all. A photo leaned against the corner of the window, and when Vanitas looked closer, he wasn’t surprised to see the desert sunset he’d let her keep all those months ago.

“Oh,” Naminé said as he picked it up. “I spilled—uh, lemonade, or iced tea. Something like that.”

Vanitas looked at her, and she pointed to a corner of the photograph, slightly curled and discolored with a wavy line. “Oh.”

“I cleaned it up as fast as I could, but that part got ruined. Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Vanitas asked, brushing his thumb over the corner to smooth it out. “It’s yours.”

She stared at him, then looked across the room while he set the photo back on the windowsill. He wrapped the blanket more snugly around himself, but he still sat a little hunched, refusing to lean back against the cushions. Naminé pulled her feet up onto the couch and sat cross-legged, squeezing the fingers of one hand with the other, rubbing her thumb against her palm.

“Well…I don’t own a lot. I mean, it looks like I do,” she said, acknowledging the mess, and Vanitas cracked a brief smile. “Most of it’s clutter, though. And everything that I keep in my room is my personal stuff. But you’re welcome to anything out here. The kitchen, bathroom…whatever.”

“I really don’t need all that,” Vanitas said. “Just a place to sleep is more than enough.”

“Well, that’s no hassle. It’s not like I need to use the couch at night.” Vanitas accepted that point, and Naminé added, a little more quietly, “You know…if you’re going to be staying here, then this is your space now, too, and you’re welcome to what’s in it. Like I said, I don’t have much, but I’m happy to share.” She shrugged lightly. “What’s mine is yours.”

Vanitas couldn’t react at first, but his lack of reaction only let the words sink in faster, and then it was beyond his control. He put his head in his hands and started to cry, little more than hiccuped breaths and pitiful sniffling. Naminé, deeply alarmed, had no idea what to do. She felt some instinct to reach out to him, but even if she knew how to act on it, Vanitas had already drawn in on himself, preemptively deflecting any attempt at comfort. Eventually, and very hesitantly, Naminé touched his upper back with her fingertips, moving them slowly, back and forth. She doubted it was substantial enough to get through both a T-shirt and a blanket, but after a few minutes, Vanitas’s breathing steadied and his crying wound down.

Naminé withdrew her hand as he wiped his eyes, getting past the worst of it, at least enough to speak. “Can I use the bathroom again?”

“Of course,” she said, relieved to be able to offer something practical in lieu of emotional comfort. “And you don’t have to ask.” He nodded, still unable to look at her, and as he approached the bathroom, she added, “There are washcloths under the sink.”

He ran the faucet immediately so he could finish crying in relative peace. The washcloths were worn but soft, smelling faintly and pleasingly of detergent. He washed and dried his face, glancing in the mirror automatically and then rolling his eyes and resolving never to do that again for the rest of his life. He hung the washcloth to dry, took a sip of water to ground himself, blew his nose, and exited.

When he finally managed to make eye contact with Naminé, she saw a look that she knew all too well. There were still traces of sadness, anger, shame, embarrassment, guilt. But more than anything: exhaustion, held in red eyes that wanted to sleep more than they wanted to cry.

“I hope this is comfortable enough,” she said as she rose from the couch. “Sorry about the blankets. I wish I had more of them.”

“No worries,” Vanitas said as he scratched his damp hair out of place and then back into it. “I’ve been sleeping on way worse. Plus, my grandfather once locked me in my darkroom overnight. Said if I wanted to spend so much time in it, I might as well live there. Not exactly the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.”

“He locked you in?”

“Yeah. I mean, my darkroom was the bathroom, so he used the outer lock.”

Naminé stared. “Okay, that sounded weird,” Vanitas went on. “It wasn’t just the bathroom. All the interior doors had double locks, one on each side. My grandfather had the master key, so most of the time, whether you could open a door or not was up to him.”

“…huh.”

Vanitas studied her expression closely. “…that _is_ weird, isn’t it?”

“…a little,” Naminé admitted. “I’ve certainly never heard of anything like that before.”

Vanitas nodded, processing this in a stunningly matter-of-fact way, and unable to offer more than a flat, “Well, shit.”

Naminé gave him a small smile—reassuring and consoling. “Well…we’ll talk more tomorrow. For now, just get some sleep.”

“Okay. I will. G’night.”

“Good night.” She paused, as if she expected herself to say something further, but then, with a tiny nod, she dismissed herself to her room and shut the door.

Vanitas curled up under the blankets, exhausted and aching, but warm and dry. He moved the photo on the windowsill, leaning it against the cactus so he could study it as he laid his head on the pillow. It was a strange sight, these little mementos of his past gathered in a corner of Naminé’s apartment. The desert was distinctly not home to him anymore, and he had no desire to go back. But it was something. It felt clarifying to have evidence that that was then and this was now, and the future was a total blank. He kept that thought in mind as he stared at the photo, and then at nothing, his tired eyes finally closing and letting him sink into a real and restful sleep.


	13. Delayed Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Lea, Isa, Catherine, and Thorn.

Lea and Isa hadn’t fought for twenty-four hours, but only because they’d started walking on eggshells instead. They approached each other with caution, trying so hard not to say or do the wrong thing that it only upped the tension and was hardly worth the effort in the first place. Even the drive to Catherine’s house on Christmas Eve was strained. Lea at least had a valid reason to avoid conversation as he focused on driving through the snow. Isa sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, and Thorn lay in the back, quiet and obedient, as if she could fix a month of stress and arguments simply by being a Very Good Dog.

Catherine ushered them out of the cold when they arrived, greeting both her sons and her granddog with warm hugs. She took coats, chatted brightly about the weather, and asked what they felt like watching for their annual Christmas marathon, as if she wouldn’t fall asleep halfway through the second movie, as per tradition.

Thanks to her emotional shrewdness or just her hectic schedule, Catherine had made next to no progress with dinner. As tired as all three of them were, they were grateful to have an excuse not to end up sitting together in the family room, forcing conversation. And it wasn’t that bad, all things considered. Lea sat at the kitchen table with Thorn while Isa helped Catherine start washing and chopping vegetables, and conversation came easily enough with their silent agreement to keep it light.

Still, there was something stilted about it, and when they’d done all they could with the dinner preparations, they were at a loss for how to proceed. Catherine noticed the sun had finally come out just an hour before it was due to set, and she offered to take Thorn for a walk. Isa said of course, knowing that Thorn needed the exercise as much as Catherine needed a break from the undercurrent of awkwardness that he and Lea had brought into her home.

Lea stayed in the kitchen while Isa got Thorn’s leash and saw them off at the door. When he didn’t return, Lea rose from his chair and made his way to the family room, where he saw Isa sitting on the couch. Lea scuffed his foot against the grain of the carpet, and then again in the opposite direction, erasing the dark stripe he’d made in the fabric. “Can I join you?”

There was plenty of space by Isa’s side, but he still scooted over a few inches to make room, and Lea took his seat carefully. He didn’t know where to begin. It had been hard enough to talk to Isa in their own apartment. Tackling adult issues in a place that was so integral to their childhood should have felt impossible. Somehow, though, it was almost easier. “I just wanna fix this,” Lea began. “I know we’re not fighting anymore, but it’s like that’s all we’re doing now. Not fighting.”

“I know,” Isa said. “We’re still in the fallout. I really think the only thing left to do is ride it out.”

“…I hate that.”

“I know,” Isa repeated. A wire-thin smile pulled at his lips. “We probably shouldn’t have used up the last of our energy for the year arguing.” Lea didn’t smile back, so Isa added with a little more seriousness, “We _are_ getting through it. I think this is the best we can do for now.”

Lea nodded slowly. “So…can we start being a little more normal again?”

“How so?”

“…can I touch you?”

“You haven’t been forbidden from touching me, Lea.”

Lea looked as if he were one minute away from falling apart and had no idea what was even holding him together anymore. “_Please_ don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Contradict me. I didn’t accuse you of anything. I asked you a question. Can you _please_ just answer it?”

Isa didn’t—at least not for a moment. It slowly started to dawn on him, how much confusion Lea had been dealing with on top of the general stress. Trying to figure out exactly what he was or wasn’t allowed to do without any help from Isa. No guidance, just reprimands when he unknowingly crossed a line, as if his inability to read Isa’s mind was at the core of every argument they had.

When Isa finally answered, he did it by reaching out and sliding his fingers into Lea’s hair, curling them behind his head and drawing him in. Lea bowed his head and rested it on Isa’s shoulder before moving close enough for an embrace. “I know we’re not totally there yet,” he said, muffled by Isa’s sweater, “but since it’s a holiday and everything, can we just…act like we’re back to normal? Just while we’re at Ma’s?”

“Yes,” Isa said, without hesitation. It was beyond time to cut themselves some slack, and he felt the effects immediately. Lea hugged him tighter, and Isa scratched his fingers through his hair.

By the time Catherine returned with Thorn, Lea was back in the kitchen, making sure nothing burned. Thorn shook snowflakes off her fur and gave Isa a cursory greeting before letting her nose guide her toward her next meal.

“I don’t know if I should be insulted that she doesn’t want my company, or flattered that she wants my food,” Catherine said as she hung her coat up. Isa smiled as he watched Thorn disappear down the hall, her tail wagging the entire way.

“Flattered,” he said, rising to his feet. Catherine laughed in agreement as she untangled her scarf.

“Fair enough. Smells good, anyway. Everything coming along well?”

“Yeah. Lea’s keeping an eye on things.”

“Good, good.” Catherine finished putting her winter clothes away, then joined Isa in the family room before he could meet her in the hallway. “And how are you doing?”

Isa was too tired to put up any kind of front, so they both knew he meant it when he said, “I’m good.”

Catherine nodded. “Good,” she said again, giving him a quick but comforting hug before they returned to the kitchen together.

Whatever tension had existed earlier was gone by the time they set the table. Lea laid his hand briefly on Isa’s back as he walked by with the flatware, and Isa absentmindedly touched Lea’s arm to let him know he was there while Lea was at the stove, before reaching past him to get the drinking glasses. Dinner went smoothly as well; Catherine had plenty of stories from work to keep the conversation moving, and Thorn was a welcome distraction as she stuck her nose under elbows and against legs, trying to poach food from whoever she could.

After they had their fill and did as much cleaning as they could stand, they adjourned to the family room again to start their movie marathon. Catherine took her armchair, and Thorn sat by her side, insisting on having her head scratched and stroked for almost thirty minutes before finally curling up on the floor at her feet.

Isa and Lea took the couch, like they always did. It was the same place where they’d had movie nights as kids, where Lea had held Isa while he cried after a forced haircut, where they’d spent countless hours making out as teenagers, because as nervous as Isa had been about getting “caught” by Lea’s mother, he’d been infinitely more nervous about going to Lea’s room instead. It was where two strangers in uniform had shown Isa more respect and compassion than his own father ever had. Where he’d gotten both his first kiss good-night and his first “mom hug,” after eighteen years of never knowing such a thing existed. Where he’d explored a box of Lea’s childhood mementos, which Lea had protested and blushed profusely at, but which he’d put up with for the sheer joy on Isa’s face. (And Lea had admitted, after some cajoling, that his kindergarten obsession with The Little Mermaid _was_ pretty adorable.)

It was where Isa and Catherine had sat and talked on numerous occasions while Lea was out of the house, sometimes casually and sometimes seriously, and sometimes specifically so that Isa could cry in front of someone other than Lea, just to know what that kind of comfort was like. It was where they had sat and drunk champagne and celebrated the fact that Lea and Isa were getting married, all before they’d even started college.

Now, the past month felt like it outweighed the past decade. The most they could manage to do was hold hands, their fingers intertwined and the back of Isa’s hand resting on the couch cushion between them. Lea had strategically taken the end of the couch farthest from the TV, in case Isa felt like leaning back against him, but he didn’t. He tucked his feet beside him and kept to his own space, though he did brush his thumb against Lea’s hand for a while during _It’s A Wonderful Life_.

Halfway through the movie, Catherine went to the kitchen to make herself some tea, too drowsy to remember to ask if anyone else wanted anything while she was up. Her absence changed the entire atmosphere of the room, making Lea realize how much he felt like a teenager again. He waited until he heard her filling up the kettle, then let go of Isa’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair instead.

Isa turned toward him while Lea carefully brushed all of his hair away from his face. When he’d tucked every bit of blue behind Isa’s ear, Lea moved in and kissed his cheek. He stayed there until Isa leaned into it, then pulled away, just enough to whisper, “I love you.”

He was unaccountably nervous as Isa looked at him again. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but he didn’t leave Lea in suspense for long, leaning in to kiss his cheek as well. “I love you,” he said as he took Lea’s hand again and squeezed it gently. He still didn’t accept Lea’s silent offer to lean against him, but he did slouch down to lay his head on Lea’s shoulder, and they stayed that way even after Catherine returned.

* * *

Christmas Day was much more easygoing. It was sunny and clear when they woke up, and all three of them took Thorn for a walk this time. They had an early dinner, which was mostly leftovers from the previous night, and the leftover leftovers were wrapped up for Lea and Isa and Thorn to take home.

By the time they were ready to head out, things felt okay. Catherine gave each of them a warm hug, thanking them for coming over like she did every year. She gave Thorn a kiss on the top of her head and said she hoped she enjoyed the food and the movies, which got a smile out of Isa and an eyeroll out of Lea. They said their good-byes, and with Thorn’s leash and several boxes of leftovers in hand, they went out into the crisp December evening.

Isa took two steps before Lea said, “Hey.” When he turned around, Lea tilted his head up, gesturing to the mistletoe above the door. It was the same as all the ones inside—the same as it had always been, in all the years Isa had been coming over to this house. They used to be so hilariously anxious about finding themselves beneath it in their early teens, going out of their way to avoid passing through doorways at the same time. This year, they’d managed to avoid it without even trying.

“Are you serious?” Isa asked, and then instantly felt bad for sounding so snarky about it, even though they’d agreed to try acting normal, and that was the most normal he’d felt in weeks. But the expression on Lea’s face told Isa that he was absolutely serious, so he stepped back to the door and waited for Lea to make his move. It took a few seconds, and Isa studied Lea’s face in the meantime, taken aback by how earnest he looked, how much pressure he seemed to be putting on himself over such a small thing.

“Lea,” Isa said, not even sure why he said it other than to act on the instinctive urge to reassure him. But Lea was already bending down, and he withdrew as soon as his lips brushed Isa’s cheek.

“Sorry,” he said, either for cutting Isa off or for presumably overstepping another boundary. He looked wracked with stress and guilt, putting too much weight on what should have been a commonplace gesture, and hearing him follow a kiss with an apology was enough to put a crack in Isa’s exterior, straight through to his heart. He held the front of Lea’s coat and pulled him back down a couple inches, placing a light kiss on his lips. Even in the middle of winter, Lea was as warm as always, and Isa lingered a few seconds longer than he’d planned. When he finally pulled away, he realized that had been the first kiss they’d shared in nearly three days.

He smoothed Lea’s lapel back into place before holding his face in his hand. Lea looked less sad than Isa expected—less sad than he probably was—and after brushing his thumb against Lea’s cheek for a few moments, Isa quietly said, “Let’s go home.”

Lea nodded and went down the steps first, offering his hand to Isa even though there was only one small and highly visible patch of ice. He opened the passenger door for Isa, helped Thorn get situated in the back seat, and drove the three of them back to their apartment, silently praying that it would feel like home again when they arrived.

* * *

It was a sobering relationship milestone they had hit. Both of them had been stubbornly refusing to admit that a problem that came and went in the span of a single evening could take an entire month to work through. There was nothing they could do but chip away at the discord it left behind, working at it day by day without any visible results, simply having faith that it would all amount to something eventually.

But putting a pause on the fight, getting some distance, and going through the motions of a normal relationship—however stilted it felt at the time—might have been exactly what they needed to do. Being at Catherine’s had felt like home, and when they returned to their apartment, they were relieved to find that the feeling persisted. It hadn’t been a fluke or the power of childhood nostalgia. The apartment felt like home again. _They_ felt like home again.

Thorn, their emotional litmus test, was just as happy to be back. She performed a quick inspection of the apartment with a busy nose and a wagging tail until she found her stuffed rabbit and brought it to the bedroom for the first time in weeks. She put herself to bed but stayed awake, waiting for Isa to give her some attention before she fell asleep.

It wasn’t late, but the sun set early these days, and nine o’ clock felt like the dead of night. Isa got ready for bed while Lea put the food away and filled Thorn’s water dish. By the time he started his own routine, Isa was already in bed, though he waited up, just as Thorn had waited for him. Lea took his usual spot, closer to the center of the mattress than the edge of it, and leaned over to give Isa a kiss good-night before hitting the lights and settling down. They didn’t stay awake for long, but they spent that time talking quietly, facing each other, Lea playing with Isa’s hair until they both dozed off.

* * *

When Isa awoke at two in the morning, he knew right away that something was different this time. It took him a moment to figure out what it was. His jaw was tight, teeth clenched together as if he were trying to keep a nightmare from getting in. His neck was stiff from the tension. He could hear his own heartbeat. Nothing new.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like several minutes before he finally realized what was wrong. He hadn’t taken a breath since he’d woken up. It was like he’d forgotten how. The time between realizing this and remembering how to breathe was the most panic-filled moment of his life, but it was fleeting. Nothing was choking him, nothing was stealing the oxygen from the room, and after a few more agonizing seconds, his body caught up with his brain. He drew a breath as if he were manually restarting his lungs, a foreign and terrifying sensation. But he forced the air in, and every breath that followed came more naturally than the last.

The first time he and Lea had slept together, side by side through the night, they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, close enough to share breath. Isa didn’t need to be that close now; listening to Lea breathe was enough. Besides, Isa had found—through a painstaking process of trial and error—that comfort was useless to him in this state if he wasn’t grounded in reality first, and a little shock of cold was the quickest way to do that. He wriggled his shoulder out from under the covers and took a slow, cool breath of night air. It tasted like life and it smelled like Lea: faint smoke and vanilla and cinnamon. Isa lost track of how many breaths he took; he just kept inhaling until it felt normal again, and until he felt real again.

Lea’s hand was closer to Isa than it was to himself, and some of Isa’s hair was still woven through his fingers. Isa pried his fist away from his chest and gathered his hair back, his arm shaking with leftover adrenaline. Lea was too exhausted to be woken up, and it was easy for Isa to press his hand into Lea’s, palm to palm. That small bit of warmth and solidity reminded Isa that the world outside his own body was steady and quiet, continuing to exist as it always had, and with that thought in mind, he managed to close his eyes and fall back asleep.

* * *

The next time Isa woke up, it was to the feeling of Lea’s fingers linking with his. The sunlight was a little harsh as Isa opened his eyes, but it was easier than ever to wake up that morning with Lea bending down to kiss the back of his hand. He was clearly trying not to disturb Isa, but it didn’t take him long to realize that he was already awake.

They didn’t smile at each other. Lea pressed his lips to Isa’s knuckles, up the backs of his fingers, and then turned his hand over to kiss his palm before he raised Isa’s arm and draped it over his own shoulder. He drew Isa into an embrace as Isa pushed his fingers freely into Lea’s hair, incapable of messing it up any more than it already was. Lea’s hand traveled up Isa’s back while Isa pressed his lips to Lea’s neck a few times, but mostly they just held each other, enjoying their mutual warmth and the calmness of the morning.

It was almost unbelievable to Isa that he had woken up at all last night. Usually those episodes stole entire days from him, infecting his body with panic long after the sun had risen. But as he lay there in Lea’s arms, it was already hard to remember the feeling of fear, even when it had been powerful enough to stop his breath.

Lea, on the other hand, still had something hanging over his head. Isa could tell by the way Lea held him, not just wrapping his arms around Isa but curling his body over him, trying to protect him even in one of the safest places they knew. He spread his fingers in Isa’s hair, holding his head to his shoulder, and Isa slid his leg between Lea’s, just to keep them as close together as possible. He ran his fingertips up and down Lea’s side and kissed his neck again, very careful not to smile so that he could catch Lea off guard when he reached down and pressed his fingertips into the hollow behind his knee.

Lea jumped, but he had nowhere to go except closer to Isa. Isa didn’t react, waiting a moment to make Lea think that was the end of it, and then he pressed again, this time grazing his fingertips across Lea’s skin.

“Isa—!” Lea’s breath hitched before he laughed, and Isa finally smiled, rubbing behind his knee to get rid of the ticklish feeling. They lay together for a few more minutes before Isa rubbed Lea’s back to let him know he was about to move.

“Mind if I take the first shower?” he asked as he sat up, stretching and feeling more loose-limbed than he could ever remember.

“Nah.”

Isa kissed Lea’s forehead and pointlessly tried to ruffle his hair into place. He got out of bed and made it about three steps toward the bathroom before he heard Lea say, “Um.”

Isa turned and saw Lea sitting cross-legged, also trying vainly to rough his hair back into its usual style. He hesitated, not quite looking at Isa as he said, “Can I…I mean, would you wanna…?”

He trailed off and tipped his chin up toward the bathroom. Isa paused, seeing the apprehension in Lea’s eyes and body language. Their life had been far from normal over the past few weeks. They’d been staggering their daily routines in order to avoid being in the same room at the same time. And the longer Isa stood there without answering, the more Lea seemed to realize that he was swinging too far in the other direction. He scratched his hair and then waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind.”

Isa looked him over, then tilted his head toward the bathroom. “Come on.”

“Nah, forget it,” Lea said, mostly to himself. “Shower’s not meant for two people—it’s not like we don’t _know_ that already…”

But Isa returned to the bed and took Lea’s hand, pulling him to his feet and leading him into the bathroom.

They refrained from doing anything, though it was impossible not to touch each other a little. It was the closeness they wanted more than anything else, now that they could be around each other again without one of them eventually snapping or storming out to keep things from getting even worse. Their biggest obstacle was figuring out who would get access to the shower head at any given moment. When they finished, Lea dried off quickly so he could grab another towel and gently squeeze the water from Isa’s hair for him.

He was still being careful, the way he always was in the aftermath of a crisis. Isa left it alone this time, neither pointing it out nor trying to push Lea past it. He just got dressed and made their bed, then followed Lea out to the kitchen.

After all these years, Isa still hadn’t gotten the hang of making breakfast; everything tended to come out either bland or overdone. So he let Lea handle the alchemical process of turning bread into French toast while he focused on washing and chopping fruit. It was a more methodical task, and it suited him.

They didn’t talk much over their meal, but they weren’t avoiding conversation, either. They simply let the beginning of their day settle gently around them. It was a calm feeling that Isa hadn’t felt for a long time, and it lasted until about halfway through the meal, when Lea abruptly said, “Are you doing all right?”

“…yes?” Isa said as he cut off a corner of his French toast. “In what way?”

Lea gave him a look. “You know what way. Are you all right?”

Isa wanted to lie, but he didn’t. He didn’t answer either, though. Lea watched him slowly twirl the piece of French toast on his plate, coating it in as much syrup as possible. “‘Cause I’m not,” he offered, making Isa look up again. “I mean, it’s not the worst. But I’ve had some nightmares since he showed up.”

“How bad?”

“Remember back when we were teenagers?” Isa nodded, and Lea shrugged. “Like those, basically. Same old.”

Isa nodded again, slowly, knowing that Lea’s admission was less about his issues than laying the groundwork for Isa to share his own. “I’m…having the usual problems again, too.”

“The exploding head thing?”

“God, I wish that had a different name.” Lea chuckled, and Isa added, “But yes. That. Among others. They all seem to go hand in hand.”

“Is there anything you need? Or want?” Lea hesitated, then said what he was really trying to ask. “Can I help?”

Isa speared a few pieces of fruit evenly across his fork before he looked up again and gave Lea a small smile. “You do help.”

When they finished breakfast, Isa cleared his place and scraped his remaining food into the sink. “Can I take that for you?” he asked when he noticed Lea was still sitting at the table. Lea nodded, and Isa started gathering his plates and flatware. He stacked everything neatly, then paused. “What is it?”

Lea shook his head, but he refused to look up from the table, trying to keep his tears from spilling over. Isa put the dishes down and rested his hand on Lea’s back, which was all it took for him to start crying. Isa leaned down and wrapped his arms snugly around Lea’s shoulders, rubbing his upper arms soothingly. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, keeping it open-ended as either reassurance or forgiveness, whichever one Lea needed depending on what he’d say next. Lea held Isa’s crossed arms and buried his face in them while Isa kissed the side of his head over and over. It was far from the first time either one of them had cried over the past few weeks, but it always felt like they were twisting the pressure valve tighter and tighter. This time, it was finally spinning in the opposite direction, undoing everything. It was the type of quiet catharsis that opened up Lea’s entire chest and allowed him to breathe again.

Isa had only expected the crying, so he was unprepared for Lea to take a shaky breath and ask, “Are you still mad at me?” Isa froze and quickly backtracked through the entire morning, trying to figure out if he’d done anything to give Lea that impression. He cautiously came to the conclusion that he hadn’t. Lea was only asking now because he hadn’t had the chance to before, afraid that if he did, it would only start another fight. He had put off asking for reassurance until he was sure he’d get it, all but defeating the purpose for the sake of keeping the peace.

Isa held Lea more tightly, kept his lips pressed against his hair, and said, “_No_.” Lea had already known the answer, but the relief of hearing it was too much. Isa had finally given him permission to believe that things were getting better, and Lea’s crying overcame him with soundless force. He buried his face in Isa’s neck, and Isa kissed the top of his head firmly, reaching hair that was still damp from the shower.

They stayed there, clinging to each other at the kitchen table, until Isa quietly said, “Can we talk?” It was so different from past instances, when Isa had said with tired resignation that it was _time_ to talk, or that they _needed_ to talk, his tone so stiff and defensive that it almost guaranteed a fight. He was truly asking this time, waiting for Lea’s approval, and Lea nodded as he tried to pull himself together.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice already hoarse. They went to the family room after Isa gave him one more hug, and they sat on the couch without putting any significant distance between each other.

“I’m not mad at you,” Isa repeated. “And I’m sorry that I was.”

That was as far as he got before Lea had to return to the kitchen for tissues and a glass of water, already dealing with a fresh wave of tears two sentences in. He sat on the couch again, letting Isa rub his back patiently while he blew his nose and tried to regain some semblance of composure. It wasn’t easy when his crying led to hiccups, each one followed by an emphatic “_fuck_,” which made Isa bite the inside of his lip in a failed attempt to keep from smiling.

Finally, when Lea got both his crying and his hiccups under control, he said, “You don’t have to apologize for getting mad.”

“I know,” Isa said. “I’d still like to.”

Lea laughed weakly. “Fair enough, I guess.” He leaned his head into Isa’s hand when Isa worked his fingers into his hair, trying to get his own thoughts together.

“I don’t think we need repeat everything we’ve already said,” he began. “I just want—because I don’t think I made this clear. I want you to know that I understand what you said, and how you feel.” He hesitated, afraid of starting the argument all over again. “I still don’t think I’ll ever share your feelings about all this. I won’t be as angry.”

Lea was already nodding. “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

“I’m just coming at it from a different place. I have my own biases, and I can’t change that.”

“Isa, it’s okay.”

“But I do think your feelings make sense,” Isa went on, ignoring Lea in order to stay on his train of thought. “I understand why you feel the way you do, and I don’t think that’s something you have to change, either.” Isa finally looked at Lea, and this time he was the one on the verge of tears. “We might not agree about everything. But I’m on your side, Lea.”

If there was one thing Lea had truly wanted to hear—even more than having his anger accommodated, or every single opinion heard and validated—it was that. The simple assurance that, at the end of the day, they were still in this together. He reached out and wrapped Isa up in his arms, letting him cry quietly, and it didn’t take long for Lea to join him.

After twenty minutes of waterworks with no end in sight, Isa made a quick call to let Dilan know that he and Lea would be taking personal days and would be back tomorrow. He didn’t bother composing himself first, and his ragged and unsteady voice spoke for itself. Dilan didn’t ask if they were okay. His concern manifested in over-the-top helpfulness, and he assured Isa that they should take as long as they needed, and not to worry about the club in the meantime. Isa thanked him and hung up, and it only took a few seconds for the next round of tears to start. He let Lea try to comfort him for a while, until Isa finally whispered, “_Fuck_,” wiped his eyes, and stood up. He said it was time for a break, which Lea agreed with, and then he set off to find something productive to do in order to “quit wallowing,” which Lea didn’t agree with. He didn’t argue, though.

The time apart helped them get back under control, so they extended it to an hour or so. Isa took Thorn out for a walk, and Lea scrounged in the kitchen for something to eat that wasn’t Christmas dinner for the third night in a row. He came up with nothing, and when Isa stepped through the door, the floodgates opened again anyway. All of the emotions they’d been suppressing or misdirecting for the past month arose in one huge swell, and eventually they decided to just let it happen. If they started crying again, then they started crying again, regardless of the fact that they’d been crying intermittently since breakfast, or the fact that nothing was particularly wrong anymore.

Lea ordered food during a quieter moment, figuring he couldn’t count on either one of them to clear his head and focus long enough to make a real dinner. They sat on the couch with the TV on in the background, the Christmas commercials already gone, forgotten for the next eleven months. Thorn joined them when she finished her own food, encouraged to see her humans sharing a not unpleasant meal in the same space again. Isa added his food to Lea’s before letting Thorn lick his plate, smiling faintly and scratching her head as she lapped up every trace of his dinner.

Eating seemed to help them re-center. Lea put his arm around Isa’s shoulders as they slumped down on the couch and digested everything. Isa still found himself wiping away a few tears here and there—they couldn’t seem to stop falling. When Lea noticed, he reached out to brush them away, and Isa closed his eyes and let him, shaking his head a little at himself.

As Lea carefully dried Isa’s face, he still felt like he was keeping his distance, even though they’d both agreed to stop erring on the side of caution. When Isa leaned into his hand, Lea moved in and gently touched his lips to Isa’s. He meant to pull away after a few seconds, but Isa opened his mouth and pushed himself into the kiss like he wished he’d thought of doing it first. His response only heightened his emotions, which fueled the crying, which made it harder to breathe. Lea held Isa’s face with both hands, steadying him while he kissed him deeply and slowly, over and over until Isa let himself relax again.

When they were a little calmer, Lea guided Isa down onto his back and settled in beside him, keeping Isa between his own body and the back of the couch, guarded on all sides. He wiped away a few more tears, and then he let the rest continue to fall as they kissed again. As necessary as the crying was, it had begun to feel like a self-sustaining cycle, leaving them lightheaded and off-balance. Positive touch was the only thing that made them feel stabilized, like sand kicked up by a month-long wave finally settling back into place on the ocean floor.

They paused for air, and Lea looked down at Isa, adjusting his arm beneath his neck to support him. “Are we okay?” he said, a question he’d gotten a reassuring but unconvincing answer to the last time he asked it. He didn’t have any expectations this time. All he wanted was the truth. Isa nodded and even laughed a little, self-deprecatingly.

“Don’t let this fool you,” he said, gesturing to his own face—the dark circles, the tears, the scars. “I think we’re a little better than okay.”

After everything they’d dealt with, it sounded like wishful thinking—not just too good to be true, but too easy. But Lea could feel it. The pressure was gone, the eggshells swept out the door, the tension dissipated. They were tired without feeling drained, and the weary peacefulness of their apartment was more substantial than the temporary truces they’d been engaging in lately.

They spent the rest of the evening on the couch, passively watching TV and lazily making out during commercial breaks. Both of them smiled mid-kiss when they realized at the same time that they were reenacting their old habits from their teenage years. They probably didn’t look okay on the surface, Lea assumed. They looked like a mess. But a mess was better than nothing, and they had nowhere to be tonight anyway, except with each other.


	14. NOW You Can Tell Me I Don't Respect My Elders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: the Higanbana crew.
> 
> Shameless fluffy, gay shenanigans, because it's the end of the year (and the decade!) and everyone has dealt with enough already.

New Year’s Eve had always been the third most stress-inducing holiday at Higanbana, after Halloween and Valentine’s Day. The venue was open to all teenagers until half past midnight, and the only employee allowed to take the night off was Lea, though of course he showed up anyway.

And he wasn’t the only one. Ienzo arrived later than usual that night—around eight o’clock, presumably after having dinner at home. He was fairly innocuous compared to his peers, but Braig could have seen him coming a mile away. After all this time, he had a specific frequency reserved just for Ienzo, allowing him to sense the kid’s presence and spot him in a crowd of similarly scrawny and vaguely nerdish students.

Still, like any good and mildly condescending uncle, he acted delightfully surprised when Ienzo approached the bar. “‘Ey, there he is,” Braig said, to which Ienzo replied by stoically raising his hands as if to agree that ‘ey, there he was. “And what can I get you for your last drink of the year?” Braig asked, already assembling the ingredients for a False Theory.

“A Meteor Mirage, please.”

It was difficult for Ienzo to maintain his trademark poker face when Braig paused, his hands full of now superfluous bottles. It was even more difficult when Braig recovered from his surprise and shot back, “You got I.D.?”

They both knew that Braig had Ienzo’s birthdate memorized, along with his full name, height, address, and any other tidbits found on his personal identification. Still, Ienzo cooperated, taking the card out of his pocket and handing it over. Braig marveled at it, shaking his head as he handed it back. “You kids grow up so fast,” he sighed, pouring and mixing and adding a cherry on top when the drink was finished—the aforementioned meteor, which Ienzo immediately removed and passed back to Braig for him to throw away.

“Enjoy,” Braig said as he ate the cherry. “You finally got some cash on you now that you’re a bona fide adult, or is this goin’ on your ‘tab?’”

“Neither,” Ienzo said as he picked up the drink, which felt like ice but looked like lava. “Isa said it’s on the house.”

“Oh, did he?” Braig said, spotting Isa by the stage, in the middle of a conversation with Demyx and Lea. He caught his attention and waved him over, and Isa held up one finger to put Demyx on pause before making his way to the bar.

“Yes?”

“Poindexter here says he’s gettin’ a free drink.”

“Yes,” Isa repeated, glancing at their favorite nerd. “Hello, Ienzo.”

“Hey,” Ienzo replied, raising his glass to both greet Isa and rub it in Braig’s face. Braig rolled his eye.

“Preferential treatment left and right with you, huh?”

“We were closed on his birthday,” Isa explained. “It’s only fair.” Ienzo gave Braig a smug look, but Isa didn’t let him get too confident. “This _is_ one of our more expensive items, however. It’s only free if you actually drink it. If you’re simply intending to use it as a prop, then it’s full price.”

Braig shot Isa a sly smile, which went unreciprocated, and then he rested his chin in his hand, watching Ienzo expectantly. Ienzo raised the glass to his lips and paused. He was of the legal drinking age and had been promised a free drink by the manager. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. But with the three sharpest eyes in the club on him, he couldn’t help feeling otherwise.

Still, Braig was simply being his obnoxious self, and Isa was watching with mild curiosity more than judgment. So Ienzo tipped the glass and took a small sip of the drink. It wasn’t very good, in his opinion, but it wasn’t terrible. And it wasn’t anywhere near as intense as he’d expected, especially with a name like Meteor Mirage. He was halfway through his second sip when the aftertaste of the first one hit, burning his tongue and the back of his throat. He tried not to react, which resulted in a sudden and involuntary closed-mouth cough, sending the itch straight up into his nasal cavities.

Braig laughed, and Isa shook his head and looked away to keep from doing the same, though he was clearly smiling. Ienzo could only imagine the lecture he’d be getting if his father had been there to witness this—not for trying alcohol, but for flouting social etiquette by spitting his drink directly back into the glass. He wiped his mouth and slid the glass to Braig, who was already passing Ienzo some water.

Ienzo took a few gulps and a deep breath, letting his mouth and his face cool off before he glanced at Isa. “…did that count?”

Isa didn’t bother hiding his smile this time. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he admitted, chuckling at Ienzo’s flat look. “But yes, that counts. Happy birthday.”

“And a happy new year,” Braig added, preparing a False Theory for the kid after all. Ienzo took it gratefully and washed down the lingering aftertaste with a familiar flavor, one that was more effective than water. His face was still a little flushed when Aeleus walked by the bar, and the bouncer did a double take and asked if he was okay.

“Took his first dip in the deep end of the pool and came out alive,” Braig confirmed, his tone teasing but also unmistakably proud. “Probably wanna lay off the hard-hitters, though, at least for the rest of the night. Which, for you, should be about…an hour or so? Unless you’ll be taking advantage of your newfound adulthood and staying out past nine o’ clock this time.”

“Well, I can’t stay the whole night,” Ienzo said. “My father would have a heart attack. But I’ll be here to ring in the new year.”

“Really?” Aeleus asked. “He extended your curfew?”

Ienzo nodded, and Aeleus studied him for a few seconds. “Did you get your grades?” Ienzo nodded again, a small smile just barely quirking the corner of his mouth. “…valedictorian?”

Ienzo nodded a third time, looking rightfully pleased with himself, though it was nothing compared to the broad grin that broke across Aeleus’s face. “All right!” he said, stepping forward to embrace Ienzo so readily and naturally that no one realized how strange the sight was, at least until Aeleus lifted him clear off the barstool. Braig sputtered out a laugh in sheer surprise while Ienzo went stiff as a board, momentarily catatonic. He would have staggered once his feet were back on the floor if it weren’t for Aeleus’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place and giving him a fond squeeze. “Ienzo, that’s _fantastic_,” he said, still beaming. Ienzo shrugged, not trying to displace Aeleus’s hand but doing so anyway.

“I technically won’t know for sure until next semester,” he said. “But barring any major crises, and assuming I don’t get caught committing any pranks, then yeah. I should be graduating at the top of my class.”

“Don’t downplay it,” Aeleus said, sternly encouraging. “It’s an incredible achievement. You should be proud. _I_ am.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t already know. My father said he was going to tell everybody.”

Isa glanced at Braig before he knew what he was doing; the bartender was already giving him a knowing look. Before they could ruin the moment with some joke or another about Ienzo’s father, Isa said, “Congratulations, Ienzo. You’ve earned it.” Aeleus agreed, and Ienzo fiddled with his glass and thanked them, curiously shy about accepting their praise. He was spared any further compliments when Lea dropped one of the cymbals on the stage, an unintentional but unmistakable reminder to Isa that he had work to do. He told Ienzo to enjoy the rest of his night, then made his way across the room again, leaving the kid with both his best and his worst uncle.

Whatever lecture Isa could have given Lea was already being covered by Demyx, who had snatched the cymbal off the stage and was busy ripping into his friend about the proper handling of musical instruments. Lea accepted his punishment more or less with grace, though he did make the mistake of firing back that a cymbal hardly qualified as a _musical_ instrument. Demyx was one rapidly shrinking fuse away from exploding into a crash course about the history and nuances of the percussion section when Isa caught their attention at the edge of the stage. “Everything under control?”

“Save me,” Lea said, at the same time that Demyx announced, “I’m gonna smash his face between these cymbals like a goddamn Looney Toon if he keeps dropping my equipment.”

“Change anything about his face, and you’re fired,” Isa said. “Otherwise, just ensure that the show starts by nine. And let’s remember to keep it PG-13. PG if at all possible. No non-biblical swearing, and censor the lyrics as needed.”

“You got it, boss.” Isa nodded at Lea, then turned his attention to his partner in crime.

“And Demyx,” he began, while Demyx pretended that tuning his sitar was a task that suddenly required all of his focus. “I know we’re bound to get a lot of ‘80s requests, but you _need_ to play something other than Billy Idol and J. Geils Band. I’m not remotely kidding about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Demyx said. “Can’t exactly control what the crowd wants, though. ‘The customer is always right,’ aren’t they?”

“The customer is almost never right. You have my permission to veto requests. I’m leaving it up to your judgment—against my own, I might add.”

Demyx grinned at Lea and held his hand out for a low-five, which Lea reluctantly gave, smiling apologetically at Isa. “I’ll keep him in line.”

“Well, doesn’t _that_ put all my worries to rest,” Isa said dryly. He checked his watch and sighed. “All right. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.”

“Gonna come back out at all?”

“Maybe.”

Lea furrowed his eyebrows. “You got a headache?” Isa made a so-so gesture, and Lea dug in his pocket, producing a small pack of ibuprofen. He held it out, and Isa took it with a light scoff.

“As if my desk isn’t overflowing with these,” he said, putting it in his own pocket. But after a moment, he added with more sincerity, “Thank you.” Lea smiled and watched Isa head to the back of the club, but once he was through the door, his face dimmed like a setting sun. By the time he returned to uncoiling cables, the expression was gone entirely and left him looking twice as tired as before.

“Yikes.”

Lea looked up, then rolled his eyes at the concern on Demyx’s face. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause, not to pry or anything, but…yikes. Thought you guys were on the upswing.”

“We are,” Lea said, resting an elbow on his knee and rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t lying; he and Isa had been doing better over the past few days, and to the average outside observer, that’s exactly how it would appear. But Demyx had never been an average anything.

“It’s basically fine,” Lea went on. “We’re not snapping at each other anymore, and we’re not doing the stupid silent treatment thing, either. But it’s like we’re going out of our way to be extra nice to make up for it.” Lea rubbed his face with both hands before slumping in his seat. “I didn’t think it’d take this long for us to go back to normal.”

Demyx nodded sagely. “Man…that blows,” he said. “I dunno what to tell you. Sounds like you guys are past the worst of it, though. Just gotta wait it out from here, I think.”

“Yeah, well, I suck at that. I can’t just _wait_, y’know? I wanna _do_ something that’ll make this all feel…”

He trailed off as an epiphany brought light back to his face. He stared both at Demyx and beyond him, an idea germinating in his mind until Demyx said, “Dude, what?”

Lea glanced around the room before leaning in, and Demyx mirrored his posture. “I need your help with something,” Lea said.

“Is this ‘something’ gonna get us fired?” Demyx asked, as if he weren’t already on board with whatever plan Lea was about to suggest.

“Maybe,” Lea said, and Demyx leaned in closer, even more intrigued. “It’s a song request. For whenever Isa comes back to the main floor. And you won’t even have to stray from your usual setlist.” Lea lowered his voice conspiratorially. “How would you and your band like to help me pull off the dumbest, gayest, cheesiest romantic stunt this place has ever seen?”

Demyx looked at his friend with stars shining in his eyes. “Lea,” he said, utterly serious, “I’ve been waiting my entire life for you to ask me that.”

Lea mustered up a smile and gave Demyx’s shoulder a little shove as they went back to work. No one in the crowd had overheard their conversation—if the people onstage weren’t singing, playing instruments, or taking their clothes off, they might as well be invisible. But across the room, Ienzo sat at the bar, sipping his drink, listening to Aeleus but keeping his eye on the duo. He was much too far away to hear what they were saying, and unlike Braig, he lacked the lip-reading skills to parse it out. But he knew a scheme in progress when he saw one.

* * *

Despite his headache, Isa was back on the main floor by the time the music started. His exhaustion had put him in a strangely generous mood, and he figured Braig would appreciate a half-hour break from the clientele.

After spending about four minutes behind the counter, Isa decided that he, too, could use a break from the clientele. The younger crowd seemed to think he was merely the new bartender rather than Higanbana’s infamously strict manager. He only needed to look at the backs of their hands for a moment before declining to serve them. “This is a gay nightclub,” he said as he passed a drink to a customer who was actually of the legal drinking age. “You think I can’t spot concealer a mile away? Go wash your hands, and then come back and tell me which _non-alcoholic_ drink you’d like to order—and be grateful that I’m not having our bouncers escort you off the premises.” He didn’t waste any more time on them, but he did get some mildly hypocritical pleasure out of their embarrassment as they slunk away to wash the make-up off the X’s on their hands.

Very few of them returned. Instead, Ienzo stopped by for a refill, and to keep Isa company for a while. He reached for his wallet, then paused when Isa shook his head. “Consider it a congratulatory drink, for making valedictorian,” Isa said as he passed him his next False Theory. “Your father must be proud.”

“He is,” Ienzo said, putting some munny in the tip jar. “I think my grandfather fits the ‘proud parent’ role a little better, though. My father doesn’t exactly express emotions like a…normal person, I suppose.”

“I can’t say that surprises me.”

Ienzo nodded, studying his drink. “Are you…how are you doing?” he asked, ill-equipped to handle a conversation about the state of Isa’s relationship, but willing to make an effort anyway. Isa tried not to smile at his awkwardness, not wanting to make Ienzo more self-conscious than he already was.

“We’re doing fine,” Isa said, tiredly but reassuringly. “At the very least, we won’t be having any more arguments in the workplace.”

“…are you sure about that?” Ienzo said, glancing across the room. Isa was just about to look for himself, but he was stopped by a chorus of _very_ familiar cheering from their adult patrons. “Do you know what’s going on up there?” Ienzo asked, nodding once at the stage. Isa closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and massaged his forehead.

“It had better be Lea with his clothes _on_,” he said as he lowered his hands and turned to assess the damage. It was nowhere near as bad as he expected: Up To Eleven were still in their places, and the only difference was that Lea had joined Demyx at center stage, dressed in a casual and non-striptease-related outfit.

Still, the audience was conditioned to expect a certain type of show from him, and Lea had barely started greeting the crowd when someone yelled, “Show us your dick!” It was almost certainly meant as a joke, made by a college student who’d had a little too much to drink and felt the urge to try and show off. Regardless, Lea shielded his eyes from the stage lights with his hand and scanned the crowd.

“All right, where’s my favorite bouncer? Where—Aeleus!” he said brightly, as if he were welcoming an old friend for an unexpected visit. “Teal fauxhawk, down in front.” Lea pointed at the perpetrator with his microphone, but Aeleus was already pushing his way through the crowd with ease. He laid a hand on the now former patron’s shoulder and guided him to the exit while Lea gave him a charming good-bye wave.

“So, that was good, actually,” he said, getting a laugh and some applause from the crowd and a deeply skeptical look from Isa. “No, seriously. Let that be an example of how _not_ to behave. We’re thirteen and up tonight, guys. I know it’s a holiday, but c’mon. Let’s keep it fuckin’ clean.”

The crowd whooped while Ienzo rolled his eyes, and Isa seriously considered making himself a drink while the rest of the club was fixated on his clown of a husband. Demyx raised and lowered both hands to get the crowd to shut up so Lea could go on. “So,” Lea said, “since tonight’s a special occasion, we figured we’d shake things up a little and give you guys a surprise, unscheduled performance. And I hope you enjoy it, because there’s like a ninety-nine percent chance we’re gonna get fired for this.”

Half the crowd laughed, and the other half—the ones who were more familiar with the Higanbana crew and knew that being fired was a very real possibility—shouted their protests. That alone bumped Isa up from a four to a seven on the anger scale. He was tempted to fire Lea and Demyx on the spot, just to spite them all.

“Okay, okay,” Lea said, quieting them down again. “So, show of hands—how many people here are in love?” Hands were raised and cheers resounded. “With someone _other_ than the bartender with the eyepatch,” Lea clarified, and he sighed in relief when almost all the hands stayed up. “Good. Now, follow-up question: how many of you lovely individuals have what you’d describe as _major_ daddy issues? Like, you’ve got one of those fathers that you just _know_ is going straight to hell?”

Lea raised his own hand, and a depressingly large number of young men did the same, shouting their assent. Ienzo looked out at the crowd, surprised that anyone would answer a question like that so openly. He glanced at Isa and saw that he’d barely reacted. He didn’t even seem fazed by Lea’s questions, or by the crowd’s response to them.

“_Well_,” Lea said, surveying the crowd and nodding to himself, impressed by their response. “Sucks to hear, but good to know. This next song I’m gonna do—with the help of the incomparable Up To Eleven—is a J. Geils Band classic.”

The crowd erupted in excited cheering again, and Isa’s Rage-O-Meter hit a solid ten. Lea waved his hand to quiet everyone down. “Yeah, yeah, chill out. It’s not ‘Centerfold.’”

…nine-point-five, then. Lea put the microphone back on its stand and said, “All right, this one goes out to all you guys who raised your hands, and a few of you who didn’t. Shout-out to everyone who’s in love tonight, and a big ‘fuck you’ to all the shitty dads out there. May they burn in hell.” The crowd whooped and cheered, and Lea turned to Demyx to start the show, only to look back at the audience at the last minute and add, “Oh, and a happy new year.”

Isa rolled his eyes while Demyx started the opening riff to “Just Can’t Wait,” barely loud enough to drown out the crowd. It wasn’t a song that Isa was familiar with, which would make it easy to tune out. Ienzo seemed to be enjoying it at least, subconsciously bobbing his head along to the music as he sipped his drink, slightly off-tempo.

Isa tried to go back to work, but Lea caught his attention as soon as he started to sing—his voice warm and laid-back and vaguely flat like always, even as he delivered the lyrics wholeheartedly.

“_Your daddy’s tellin’ you I just ain’t no good_, _and everything I try to do is just misunderstood_.”

Isa looked up, but Lea kept all his focus on the crowd, raising his hands to get them moving, as if they needed any encouragement. “_But I don’t care if your daddy says it’s wrong_,” he went on, grinning when the audience cheered their agreement. “_I just can’t stand to be away from you too long_—”

Demyx joined in on the chorus to give Lea’s vocals a boost, repeating “_I just can’t wait_” and getting everyone to clap along more or less on-beat. Isa went back and forth between cleaning the bar and watching the show, and Ienzo sat there on his stool, away from his usual spot, feeling both fortunate and isolated as everyone around him united in something he couldn’t relate to at all.

Lea and Demyx converged at the center of the stage for the bridge. They slouched against each other to share a microphone, drawing out the line “_I can’t wait till toniiiiight,_” holding the note until Lea gave Demyx a light headbutt and nudged him away for his guitar solo. “Give it up for Up To Eleven!” Lea said, shouting over the very music he was trying to give them credit for.

While the crowd’s attention was on Demyx, Lea finally looked at Isa. Isa was already staring back, challenging his little stunt, but even at a distance, Lea could tell that he was fighting back a smile.

“_But I don’t care if your daddy says it’s wrong_,” Lea repeated, and with just that one line, Isa _knew_ he was planning to go for a high note. He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, and Lea—undeterred and even egged on by Isa’s warning—took the mic with both hands and belted into it, “_I just can’t stand to be away from you too looo-ooooooong_!”

Predictably, his voice cracked on the high note, and just as predictably, Isa smiled. He tried to stop before Lea noticed, but he was forced to look down as the grin spread in a pitiful attempt to hide it. At that point, all he could do was laugh, as embarrassed by himself as he was by Lea.

Up on the stage, Lea absolutely lost it. He did a fist-pump, jumped and spun in victory, shook Demyx by the shoulder. He didn’t even bother singing the final chorus, leaving it to Demyx and his band while he went on to have a private celebration in front of hundreds of people.

The audience celebrated with him, latching onto his infectious enthusiasm without even knowing the reason for it. No one else saw Isa’s smile except for Ienzo, partly because he was still sitting at the bar, and partly because he had a knack for knowing what to pay attention to.

The song ended with a bang. The crowd cheered, and Demyx took over as their ringleader, because Lea didn’t seem capable of noticing anyone but Isa. He stood there, elated, looking at Isa like he was the only person on earth. Isa was looking back at him, not laughing anymore but still smiling, and he let whatever final weight they’d been carrying gently melt away. The quiet moments, the long talks, and the daily affirmations of love had gotten them pretty far, but they had needed something like this—spontaneous, unself-conscious, and fun—to get them the rest of the way back to normal.

After a few seconds, Isa checked his watch, then glanced at Lea again and tilted his head toward the back door. Lea stared, confused and apprehensive until it clicked, and then he made such a mad dash for the edge of the stage that he almost took Up To Eleven’s entire keyboard set-up with him. “Hey, hey, _hey_!” Demyx barked, and the crowd, still hyped up from the song, all but lost their collective shit at the unexpected slapstick routine.

Lea untangled himself and shook the cables off his ankle, making it even harder for the keyboardist to keep the instrument from toppling off its stand. He almost made it offstage before Demyx shouted one more emphatic, “_Hey,_” and Lea remembered to toss the microphone over his shoulder before he jumped down the steps and disappeared through the back door. The bassist managed to catch the mic with one hand and flip Lea off with the other, and Demyx tried not to sound too annoyed as he addressed the audience again.

“All right, well, hope you all enjoyed our guest star, because he’s not allowed back onstage for the rest of the night,” he said with forced cheerfulness while his band struggled to set up for the next song. “And we were kidding earlier—we’re totally doing ‘Centerfold.’”

They launched into the na-na-nas right off the bat, and the crowd was as loud as ever. Isa didn’t even mind the oversaturation of ‘80s hits, nor the disobedience of his earlier instructions. He gave Ienzo one more refill of his drink, and then he dishonestly left the “Back In Five Minutes” sign on top of the bar before he went to meet his husband backstage.


	15. Short And Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a nonsensical, ridiculous, indulgent premise, but after all the drama and suffering in this story, I felt like wrapping things up on a lighter note. Everyone involved in this situation deserves exactly what they get.
> 
> Direct follow-up to the previous chapter; basically a silly little epilogue.  
Characters: the Higanbana crew.

Aeleus stood beside the stage, a single earplug stuffed into the ear that was closest to the speakers. Like most of the Higanbana staff, he wasn’t much of a fan of ‘80s music. He _was_ a fan of the crowd behaving themselves and having a wholesomely good time, however. So as long as the band kept churning out music that inspired a lot of jumping up and down rather than lascivious grinding and the removal of clothing—both onstage and off—then he was content.

When the countdown commenced, the main floor became a sea of couples—some long-term pairs, and some strangers who had grabbed the nearest willing participant to ensure that no one was left behind in the new year. Many of them skirted the line of appropriate behavior, but it was permissible. In fact, it was the tamest New Year’s Eve Aeleus could recall at Higanbana, and he felt oddly proud of their patrons for finally taking the rules of conduct to heart.

Proud, and a little hypocritical when an arm slung itself around his shoulders from behind and a bubbly, excitable _someone_ planted a kiss on his cheek. Aeleus was too slow to dodge it, but Demyx took the hint when the bouncer tilted his head away. “What the _crap_, Demyx?” Aeleus said, rubbing his cheek mostly out of surprise while Demyx sat on the edge of the stage, his feet swinging and the heels of his sneakers bumping the wall.

“Hey, it’s tradition,” he said. He let go of Aeleus’s shoulders and used his head as an elbow-rest instead, at least until Aeleus leaned away again. “Noticed you were standing all alone over here, and Braig seems to be MIA at the moment, so…”

“Wow. Second place after Braig. What an honor.”

Demyx grinned sheepishly. “Well, I’m in a good mood and I wanted to share it. This was one of our most successful shows yet.”

“Doesn’t mean the rules of conduct are on hiatus,” Aeleus said, glancing automatically at the bar, and then at the front door. Demyx snorted.

“Worried about getting a lecture on professionalism?”

Aeleus frowned as he scanned the room. “Yeah…where _is_ Isa, anyway?”

“Takin’ a break.” Aeleus looked at Demyx with a combination of doubt and concern that suited his face perfectly. Demyx raised his eyebrows. “With Lea.”

“Ah. Okay.” Aeleus returned to monitoring the dance floor, suddenly finding the sight of the crowd much less awkward than he had a moment ago. “That’s already more information than I needed.”

“Hey,” Demyx said, leaning back on his hands with an easygoing shrug, “when you’ve got your own office, you might as well use it.”

* * *

At Braig’s age, there was nothing to be gained by ringing in the new year that he couldn’t accomplish any other night with a snifter of brandy and a mirror to count his gray hairs. “Tradition” to him meant skipping the festivities and catching up on some much-needed rest. And the joke was on his coworkers, he thought, as he sat on an overturned bucket behind the false wall at the back of the janitorial closet. So obsessed were they with figuring out where he slunk off to for his naps. If any of them bothered to do some cleaning once in a while, maybe they would’ve discovered it by now.

He only had about fifteen minutes until he was supposed to go back to work, but falling asleep quickly was a skill he’d honed to an expert degree. It might not have been his flashiest skill, but he truly considered it to be one of his most useful. It was outdone only by his ability to wake up just as fast. One moment he was right on the cusp of catching twenty winks, and the next he was awake and alert, bypassing the groggy phase entirely as the closet door on the other side of the wall was yanked open.

“—just a song—I didn’t _literally_ mean I can’t wait.”

Lea.

“Well, I can’t, so tough.”

_Isa_.

The door shut and some supplies were shuffled around, possibly to wedge under the doorknob. If they were smart, anyway, Braig thought, already using humor to cope with what he just _knew_ was about to happen. He took a calculated risk and sat up a little straighter, hoping they were too preoccupied to hear any noises he might have made. From the sound of it, he didn’t have to worry. There was almost more breathing and moaning than kissing. After a few seconds, however, Isa interrupted himself to ask an important question.

“Why do you taste like hair gel?”

“Oh,” Lea said with a laugh. “Got a little cozy onstage with Dem. Blame him.”

“I will.” Isa tried to get them back on track, but a moment later, it was Lea’s turn to interrupt.

“You sure you wanna do this here? What if someone walks in or something?”

“Some exhibitionist you are.” When Lea didn’t respond, Isa added, “Everyone’s out on the floor, Lea. No one else is pathetic enough to be back here on New Year’s Eve.”

Braig gave an offended little look at the wall.

“It’s cramped in here, though. This is gonna get, like…messy.”

“It’s a _cleaning _closet. I can’t think of a better place.”

Braig rolled his eye. Efficiency reigned supreme, even in Isa’s sex life. Go figure.

“Whatever,” he heard Lea mutter. “You’ve still just got a thing for confined spaces.”

“God, shut _up_,” Isa said—not quite a growl, but close. Enough to wake Braig up completely. But Lea started to laugh, only stopping when they kissed again, so Braig assumed exchanges like that must be par for the course with them. He’d be lying if he said he never wondered what Isa was like in the heat of the moment. Turned out he was just as demanding and twice as rude. _Color me shocked_, he thought.

“Can’t believe that shit actually worked, by the way,” Lea murmured, sounding proud of himself.

“This is a freebie. Next time, you’re fired.” Another kiss, and then a pause. “What are you smiling about?”

Braig could hear the smile in Lea’s voice when he replied. “You say that every time.”

“Because you’re always one stupid stunt away from being fired,” Isa shot back, and Lea snorted.

“Hey, if having sex with the boss in a broom closet doesn’t do it, I dunno what will.”

Their banter was as cloying as always, but Lea did have a point. It made Braig feel like less of a rule-breaker for only sneaking off to take a nap, even if he’d gone to one of his safety-code-violating hideaways to do it. He silently willed them to get on with it and wrap things up as quickly as possible, but he could feel the sudden hesitation radiating through the wood paneling. “Hey, uh…tell me if I’m way off base here, but…have you been losing—”

“Eleven pounds,” Isa said, as if he’d been waiting for Lea to finally ask.

“_Jesus_, Isa,” Lea said, both disapproving and concerned. Braig raised his eyebrows. _Huh_, he thought. _Not a stress eater_. Another item he could cross off the list of Isa’s potential vices. He was learning all kinds of things about his manager tonight.

“C’mon,” Lea said. There were footsteps as he headed for the door, and then a few more as Isa pulled him back.

“I’ve already eaten.”

“Not enough, clearly. What if you pass out?”

“Well, someone thinks highly of himself. You’re worried you’re _literally_ going to fuck me senseless?”

It was subtle, but there was an undercurrent of weariness in Isa’s voice, a missing layer of energy that even the laid-back sarcasm couldn’t fill in. For a few more seconds, there was nothing but the sound of one-sided kissing, until Isa paused and said a little more gently, “We can wait until we get home.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I mean…if you’re okay…”

“I am.”

“Promise?”

“Lea, I promise. Just…come here.”

Maybe Braig would get to take his nap after all. He hadn’t heard much that was worth staying awake for, and he’d certainly slept through worse.

For a while, he only heard the sounds of making out and fabric being undone, and occasional shifting against the other side of the wall, which he found himself gradually leaning away from. There was another moment of stillness, and without Lea having to say anything, Isa—with growing impatience—asked, “_What_?”

“…you don’t really think I’m a jackass, do you?”

Everything dwindled down to silence, the quietest they’d been since they set foot in the supply closet. Isa started to whisper something to Lea, and even though Braig couldn’t make out the words, it was clear that his annoyance was gone. Slowly, the whispering melted back into kissing as Isa urged Lea on again, abandoning their discussion altogether.

Braig leaned back carefully, getting as comfortable as he could under the circumstances. If anyone had earned the right to be called a jackass here, it was him, for not installing a second escape route in this little hiding spot. He checked his watch, then crossed his arms and stared at the opposite wall, counting the whorls in the wood grain to pass the time. When the two reached their inevitable conclusion, he showed himself mercy and zoned out, trying to let his mind go where his body could not: literally anywhere else. As much of an information-hoarder as Braig was, there were some things even he didn’t need to know.

Tuning them out was surprisingly difficult—he hadn’t expected Isa to be so vocal. Then again, he hadn’t expected Isa to drag his husband into a supply closet at work for what Braig had to assume was a blowjob, which was the only way to account for Lea’s lack of commentary over the past few minutes

So ultimately, the joke was on Braig, for continuing to have any expectations whatsoever. And if his manager wanted to have a quickie in the closet, it was fine by him. Maybe he’d start the year off in a good mood for once.

Braig was itching for them to wrap it up, but it wasn’t over yet. He drifted back to reality just in time to hear Lea say, “_God_, Isa,” and Braig braced himself for a dose of saccharine sentimentality. When Lea followed it up with, “I _really_ regret teaching you to be loud,” Braig came dangerously close to giving himself away with a laugh.

But soon he suffered through the most obscene noises of all: soft kissing and murmuring to each other in the absolutely absurd afterglow of the Higanbana janitorial closet.

“You good?”

“Yes. You?”

“_Oh_ yeah.”

_Kill me_, Braig thought, staring at the wall again.

“I love you.”

“I _love_ you.”

_Kill me in the _face_._

After a short eternity of this, they finally composed themselves, rearranged whatever they’d moved out of place, and left. Braig waited until he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore—and a little longer, just to be sure—and then he closed his eye and tested the secret door with an apprehensive wince. He couldn’t help worrying that they’d stacked the supplies against the back wall, trapping him in some kind of Poe-inspired punishment for his hubris of daring to take a twenty-minute nap at work.

No such issue, fortunately. The false wall gave, nudging only one small bucket aside in the process. They really made a mess of the place, Braig noted, though he tried not to inspect his surroundings too closely. He decided to make a new year’s resolution after all: to stop entertaining any more of Isa’s shit about order and organization. The guy couldn’t even be bothered to stack a bucket properly. Not that Braig was about to touch it, either.

He made it out without coming into contact with anything, genuinely impressed at both his skill and his luck, working in tandem to help him escape the latest in a long line of ridiculous situations. He hit the lights and had almost closed the door when he happened to look up.

Ienzo was standing dead center in the hallway, staring him down. Braig stared back, his arm still inside the closet, holding onto the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder, down the other end of the hallway, then back at Ienzo again. “What’re _you_ doin’ back here?”

“The bathrooms are, uh…kind of crazy right now. Aeleus said I could—well, strongly advised me to use the employee restroom.” He continued to look Braig over, then nodded once at the closet. “What were _you_ doing?”

Braig pulled the door shut and leaned his shoulder against it, crossing his arms. “Lookin’ for your dad.”

Ienzo’s confusion was fleeting, but it was one of the most psychologically gratifying moments of Braig’s life. Almost as gratifying as seeing the exact moment that his response clicked. Ienzo grimaced, too caught off guard for a comeback and too morally offended to waste one on Braig, anyway. He hurried down the hall without a second glance, and Braig sighed contentedly, relaxing against the door to enjoy the final two minutes and fourteen seconds of his break. This holiday was still massively overhyped, in his opinion. But he had to admit, there were worse ways to usher in the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to challenge myself to write a sex scene without _actually_ writing a sex scene. For what it's worth, I think if Isa found out that he accidentally trapped Braig in his own hiding place the entire time, he'd find it hilarious. And then he'd dismantle said hiding place so Braig could never take a nap at work again.
> 
> Anyway...whew. Five sections down, two more to go. Almost every chapter I've posted up till now was written sometime last year, with just a few exceptions, so from here on out, updates will be a little slower. I'm tentatively aiming for once a week, but no promises. I do have the rest of this story outlined pretty thoroughly, though, so I should be able to stay more or less on target.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, kudo-ing, or accidentally clicking on the title and giving my hit counter a freebie. Whatever your contribution was, I appreciate it <3 Hope you've enjoyed this story so far, and I'll see you in the new year!


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